


The Door Of Time

by Serena90



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Bottom Draco, Death Eaters, Discrimination, Draco centric, Fix-It, M/M, Malfoy Family, Mpreg, Pureblood Culture, Pureblood Customs, Pureblood Society, Submissive Draco, Time Travel, Wizarding Customs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 09:48:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1546436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serena90/pseuds/Serena90
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy is in trouble. He's treading a thin line trying to fix the Vanishing Cabinet, when the Room of Requirements gives him a way out. Will he make things better or worse?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Draco Malfoy was trembling as he paced in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. The first time he had come across it in his first year, he had burst into a fit of giggles at the thought of training trolls to dance ballet. Until his fourth year, he always couldn't help but snicker. During his fifth year, he snorted. Now, he couldn't even crack a weak smile.

He wished things were as simple as they had been before his fourth year. He had been _happy_. Not always, of course, but even with Potter and his gang humiliating him at every turn, he had been _content_. He could barely remember either of these feelings. Since his introduction to pureblood society, his whole life had just started to crumble, only to completely collapse at the end of his fifth year with his Father's imprisonment.

When his Father had finally allowed him to participate in some “adult” events, he had acted childishly and had embarrassed his Family. It hadn't been intentional; on the contrary, he had tried to imitate Father. However, he had only come across as a pompous weakling who basked in his Father's glory. He blushed, mortified, thinking of his behaviour during the Quidditch World Cup and the Darell's family Yule celebration. He had been ridiculous, if not unfit of the name of Malfoy.

The resurrection of the Dark Lord had only worsened the situation. Having to cohabitate with a demented yet powerful Dark Lord who resented his Family had only been the beginning. It had been hard to assimilate that his home, his Ancestral Family Manor, was now the headquarters of a mad dark wizard who, for all his propaganda, had no respect of pureblood traditions. The first time he had seen his proud Father kneel to kiss the hem of his Master's robe, a small part of him had died.

His Father's imprisonment had been simply terrible. A harsh blow Draco could barely cope with. His esteemed Father, his Patriarch, was rotting away in Azkaban. His Family name was dishonoured. The Dark Lord had never been angrier with the Malfoys. Before, when he left the Manor, it had been easy to pretend everything was alright. Draco had always been good at self-delusion. Now, he couldn't escape reality. Now, he had been given a mission that he was positive would be his Family's death.

He tried, of course, he wished for nothing more than to protect his Family. As any good pureblood would want to protect their line; however, he knew the true purpose of the mission was for the half-blood to find an excuse to kill them. The only reason he hadn't yet was because of the stir it would suppose among the Death Eaters. After all, if the powerful, pureblood Malfoys weren't safe from their Master's ire roused without any provocation, who would be?

Killing Dumbledore, sneaking Death Eaters into Hogwarts... how was he, a mere sixteen year old, supposed to do what entire generations of dark wizards had failed at? Killing the Light Lord, breaking some of the most powerful wards in the British Wizarding World...

It had been at night, suffering from insomnia, when he had had a stroke of genius. He had gone into the Requirement Room before and had seen a cabinet that was exactly like the Vanishing Cabinet at Borgin &Burkes whose partner was missing. It had given him _hope_ that maybe, his Family would survive this. He had purchased the Vanishing Cabinet and once in Hogwarts had gone to find its counterpart.

It was broken. He had delved into magics so complex to repair the Vanishing Cabinet. Arithmancy, runes, rituals, light magic, dark magic... it didn't matter, he couldn't repair it. He had never studied so much magic theory in his life, some concepts were so convoluted it had taken him hours to comprehend. He slept 4 hours a day at best, spent 1 hour in total eating; he had even dropped as many subjects as possible to reduce his class time. He had tried to give himself as much time as possible. Yet, he could feel it in his blood: failure. Looming over him like a Grimm.

Draco closed his eyes to stop a stream of tears. He had to stop thinking about how much he wished he were back in fourth year and focus on his mission. He sighed and opened his mercury eyes again, prepared to walk three times again in front of the Room of Requirement. But there was already a door.

It was different than the door Draco was used to seeing. The door to the Room of Hidden Things had been plain, not enough to be conspicuous in a castle yet easily overseen. This door was grand; it claimed attention even in a castle. It was a double door, high and wide, framed with stone vines surrounding it. He couldn't recognize the wood, but it was a rich tone of reddish brown that contrasted elegantly with the light grey stones enveloping it. The silver handle was well-polished and inviting.

He paused.

The Room of Requirement always gave what was required. But he couldn't see what sort of response his thoughts could have gained, a place to sleep and relax? Or maybe, this was Hogwarts' way to get rid of him. He knew the ancient castle was sentient although he didn't know to what degree. It was logical the school would try to eliminate the threat.

But why would Hogwarts try to make him disappear now? Now that he had no hope left? It would have been more logical to do it back when he felt there was hope. Besides, so far Hogwarts hadn't tried to hurt him. Yes, the stairs were being particularly difficult and some of the corridors had vanished when he was running out of time to class, making him late. But nothing outright harmful had happened. Hogwarts was more benign than Malfoy Fortress or even Malfoy Manor, especially since he was a student.

He stepped forward and caressed the handle as he put his other hand on the door. He had always been magic sensitive and offensive magic had a very distinctive feeling. He closed his eyes as he concentrated on the magic. The blond frowned, it was powerful and at the same time vague. The intent of the magic wasn't clear. It didn't seem to seek harm yet it didn't feel inoffensive either. He had never felt anything like it.

He nibbled his pink lower lip nervously. It didn't feel harmful. And the Dark Lord planned to kill his entire family so what did he have to lose? He grasped the silver ring and pushed the door, it was rather heavy, and obviously no one had bothered with lightweight charms. He stepped forward cautiously as he pushed the door.

He felt a rush of magic enveloping his body as he went in for a few seconds, making him instinctively close his eyes. The magic had been like a gust of wind, tinted with blue. The magic felt different to anything he had felt before, it wasn't harmful or protective...

It was dark. Draco opened his silver eyes hesitantly only to be greeted by his room in Malfoy Manor. He huffed, so much drama for a representation of his room but it wasn't exactly like his own bedroom. He couldn't exactly say what was different: the walls were a pale slightly grey blue; his enormous his elaborately carved wooden Tuscan bed, with its high arched panel headboard and four high posts; his fringed bed bench, its cushions covered in soft golden and rich blue velvet; his Villagio hazelnut armoire; his dresser mirror; his favourite paintings,...

He gasped. One of the tapestries was the one he had when he was younger, as well as a painting and that beautiful small statue of a dragon that a house-elf had broken. So the room had replicated his room from a couple of years ago. He sighed and went to his bed to lie down for a while.

He frowned. His bed was higher than normal. Maybe the room had taken his perception of the room when he was younger? It was certainly higher for him then. He went to take off his tie only to realise he wasn't wearing his uniform. Instead of his uniform he was wearing his forest green robe, he remembered that summer robe, he had liked it up until Blaise had joked saying he looked like a nymph.

Did the room just change his clothes? Well, they were more comfortable than the uniform. But to sleep, he preferred his pyjamas. He stood up to go into his dressing room, but as he passed his mirror dresser he paused. He glanced at it. He looked younger. He looked bloody fourteen years old!

What did this mean? Had the room decided to replicate his life as when he was fourteen? But the Room of Requirement couldn't affect one's body. And as he touched his body he could feel that it was his younger body. What had happened? Did this mean he was fourteen again? Or more bizarrely, did this mean he had gone back in time? Had the door been some sort of portal?

“Poppy!” he called for his personal elf.

With a muffled pop, the female house-elf appeared in front of him, “Master Draco is there something Poppy can do for you?”

He bit his lower lip, he couldn't ask for the date that would be too suspicious, “What are my appointments for today?”

“Master Draco is having brunch with Heir Blaise Zabini and Mr Theodore Nott, and then Master Draco is going to Twilfit and Tattings with Mistress Narcissa at half past five. Master Draco is having dinner with the Masters and business partners of Master Lucius at nine o'clock”

Draco closed his eyes, he remembered that day. It had been the day Blaise had commented on how he looked like a nymph with this robe and he had fumed quite loudly. He had been in a foul mood all day afterwards. He had been disrespectful to some influential people at the tailor’s and then his polite attitude at dinner had been glaringly fake. He winced at the memory.

The dinner hadn't been extremely important, in fact, his parents had wanted to use it as practice before the real deal. But it had been the first dinner he had been acknowledged as more than a child and he had ruined in such a spectacular way. This was his chance to make everything better. He was prepared this time. He knew how to act in social events as an adult now. He knew about Voldemort's return. This time, he wouldn't make the same mistakes.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Draco walked down the stairs to wait for his friends in the Floo room of the south wing of the manor. Last time, he had made them wait for almost a half an hour; the blond suspected that might have incited the comment about his robe. This time, he wanted to be there to greet them, not only because it was rude to make them wait despite being close friends, but because he had learned not to let anyone roam around his wing alone. He mentally winced remembering some of the curses the Death Eaters had placed around. It was now an automatic response to accompany all the people who went into his side of the manor. He would grow anxious if he had to leave them alone.

He walked into the Floo room, rolling his eyes at how childish he had been, decorating the small room with forest greens and silver touches to proclaim his house to all his visitors. Slytherin pride. It had been his way to revere the Dark Lord too since he was a descendent of Lord Slytherin. How naïve could he be? Slytherin had been a part of the equation during the war, but it was only a cover.

The grey marble fireplace roared announcing his friend's arrival. Blaise Zabini stepped out of the enormous fireplace with the ease of a pureblood, brushing non-existent pieces of ash. He looked so young, although he had always been taller than Draco; he was a few inches shorter than he had been as a sixteen year old. He was slimmer and his masculine broad shoulders weren't there yet.

“Blaise!” he greeted him, smiling as he approached his fellow Slytherin.

It had been so long since the last time he had been able to converse with his friend without the tense undertones. He had worried about slipping something he shouldn't. Plus, he stressed because Blaise was neutral and some of his affirmations could be taken as him trying to scout his Italian friend, but at the same time he was supposed to speak only preaches of his Lord.

He hugged him tightly and Blaise responded his embrace. Draco sighed contently, refraining his urge to snuggle closer. When he had been fourteen, he had been too prickly to hug his friend anymore, believing he was too old for hugs. Once the Dark Lord started living in the manor, he had wanted no more than feeling the protective warmth he felt in a hug.

Blaise gave the best hugs, even better than his own mother or father. Although, in his parents' defence, they hadn't been embraced a lot through their childhoods since it was considered a sign of weakness and parents-child relationship was more distant, while Blaise and Mrs Zabini's relationship was warmer, probably due to Italian culture. His friend's hugs were more natural and less stiff than his parents'.

He was sure that if he wasn't friends with Blaise, he wouldn't receive any hugs at all, except the occasional awkward embrace from his mother. His Italian friend was affectionate by nature, and since his English friends refused to be greeted by one kiss on each cheek, he had resorted to giving wonderful hugs. Spurred by Blaise, the tight group of friends were more “touchy-feely” than was considered normal in English aristocracy, which was why they only acted that way in strict privacy.

“Draco, I see that you missed me,” the older wizard teased, parting from their hug.

“Maybe because someone has barely written more than two letters this entire summer,” he answered with only the slightest reproach on his tone.

“Barely more than two letters? I wrote at least ten and it's only the first of August!” responded amused the Italian.

“Yes, well, but you were in Italy with all your family, while I was here by all my lonesome self,” Draco huffed dramatically. It felt good to be able to behave as childish as he wanted and he knew Blaise wouldn't use it against him.

Blaise laughed, “I did invite you.”

“You just wanted me to get burnt again, like last year”, he pouted.

“But of course! You turned the most captivating shade of pink,” the foreigner joked.

“Not everyone can tan like you! You, you caramel-turning-wizard!” he exclaimed with theatrical anger, waving his index as he pointed his friend.

Chuckles were heard from the fireplace, Theo stood there staring at them with mirth in his honey eyes. Draco blushed realising he had been so immersed in the little fake fight he hadn't even heard the fireplace roar. He really had gone overboard but it felt so good not to be constantly restrained. He felt carefree and happy. He supposed he was in a high, he just hoped that he wouldn't crush too badly when he had to return to self-control at the tailor’s and during dinner.

“Good afternoon,” the dark haired wizard said with a smirk.

“Hello,” Draco responded with his cheeks still coloured pink.

“Hi, Theo!” Blaise said enthusiastically engulfing their friend in a hug.

Draco watched them smiling, there was always something humorous about seeing open and expressive Blaise with studious and introspective Theo. The eldest of the trio stood stoically letting their friend hug him in greeting, putting his hands on his back before moving back. He wasn't surprised when he didn't receive a hug and was gifted with a small smile instead; Theo wasn't as keen on physical contact as Blaise.

“Now that we're all here, shall we move to the yellow dining room?” Draco suggested before heading to the dining room.

The small dining room was painted with a yellow and off-white paper, there were two large windows that faced a small patio and were framed with golden and yellow curtains. The round wooden dinner table was in the centre of the square room and there were three side chairs around it. The table ornament was a simple bouquet of white and yellow narcissus. It was a quite intimate dining room due to its size and Draco only used it when he was going to eat with Blaise or Theo or both.

“I still can't believe that you used yellow to decorate, I thought it was a Hufflepuff colour?” teased Blaise.

Draco shrugged elegantly, “It's a Hufflepuff colour when they don't know how to use it.”

“So everyone but you?” Blaise asked arching an eyebrow.

“That's not true Lady Yaxley has the loveliest drawing room, how a witch whose taste is so exquisite married such a brute is something I can't understand,” he answered dismissing his comment.

Blaise rolled his green eyes, “Yes, Draco, we know, you fell in love when you saw the decorations of their Yule ball, even though we were on the children's side. How long have you had this crush? Five years?”

“I don't have a crush!” exclaimed the Malfoy Heir as he blushed, “I just appreciate her taste, that's all.”

The Nott Heir snorted, “That's an understatement. You love the interior design of every single room of Yaxley Manor and there're, what, two hundred?”

“Well, I don't like the gallery rooms, Lord Yaxley's study and his office is atrocious,” refuted stubbornly the blond.

“You do realise those are the only rooms not decorated by Lady Yaxley, don't you?” smirked Blaise.

“Enough about my non-existent crushes! How did it go with Phillipa this July?” he asked smiling, knowing they had snogged that summer.

As expected, it was Blaise's turn to flush and try to look nonchalant, “We spent some enjoyable afternoons together.”

“Which means he spent all afternoon trying to romance her while she smirked and let him make a fool of himself”, translated Theodore smirking.

“That's not how it went at all... Ok, maybe there's a slight similarity.”


	3. Chapter 3

Draco stepped out of the fireplace gracefully into the clients welcoming area. A petite redhead witch who was sitting behind a desk hurried to approach them and greet them by their titles. The blond couldn't help but see the stark difference of how he was being treated now and how he had been treated a few mere hours ago in the future. When his Family Name had been disgraced, the redheaded receptionist wouldn't have even greeted them and would have gone to ask the tailor in charge whether he was allowed to be there. What he had lost... But this time he wouldn't lose it, he'd make sure of it.

“And Tailor Twilfit has the most wonderful designs for this fall”, chatted inanely the redhead witch as his Mother nodded nonchalantly.

At that precise moment, Tailor Twilfit came out to greet them looking as though he had rushed to get there, “Lady Malfoy, Heir Malfoy, it's a pleasure to have you here”

Strangely enough, the blond Malfoy felt as though the brunette Tailor Twilfit’s gaze had stopped on him longer than last time. But what was the difference? He was just wearing the green robe; Blaise hadn't made any comment, so he hadn't changed it this time. He supposed it was less formal than what the older wizard was used to seeing him in. It was still traditional but the cut and form wasn't so harsh, the green robe fell more gently to the floor and the material was thinner.

The tall Tailor Twilfit walked them to a spacious room, there was a model catwalk in the centre of the room and there were some comfortable seats around the end. His Mother and Draco sat down elegantly, while Tailor Twilfit asked them what types of fashion they wanted to see.

The blond Slytherin wondered why he always asked, since Mother’s answer was always the same: traditional fashion. The Malfoys would never go around looking like muggles. Maybe Taylor Twilfit hoped for another answer? After all, every tailor loved to see the Malfoys in their designs: not only were they powerful and, therefore, gained great publicity, but also beautiful and made their products glow.

Tailor Twilfit nodded and went behind the vaporous curtains to instruct the models on what to wear, most likely. The redhead receptionist came over and inquired what they would like to drink, Mother answered champagne and Draco declined her offer. Soon enough, a pale blond model (most high class clothing shops tried to match the clients colouring with his model's, usually through a few specialised spells) walked through the scenario, wearing a traditional grey female robe. The material shimmered slightly under the light and there was a band of precious stones on the shoulders, it had no cleavage and it wasn't as tight as many robes Draco had seen but it elegantly insinuated the female form. Last time, his Mother had loved it and bought it. She had looked magnificent in that gown.

He glanced at his Mother, her aristocratic face was blank but he could see the gleam in her blue eyes. He turned again to the gown, feeling his lips twitch upward. Tailor Twilfit came out, apparently done instructing the models and approached his Mother, asking her opinion. This process repeated itself quite a few times until his Mother declared it was Draco's turn; after all she had bought more than enough for the day.

The first couple of designs didn't raise Draco's interest, he was used to the stiff robes and he had enough of them. He wanted the perfect tunic for the Quidditch cup, last time he had just dosed in black clothing and he had had to constantly ask his mother for a cooling charm. He winced as he remembered it. The black robes hadn't been his first choice. He had wanted to go with a really elegant blue robe, Mother had seen him and told him to change saying he was going to watch Quidditch not to a fundraiser.

He hadn't had much time and could only change into the black robes, he had stood out like a sore thumb although not as much as he'd have with his blue robes. At the after-party he hadn't stood out so much but his attire left much to desire, it simply wasn't appropriate for the event. Last time, his taste had leaned towards the robes that reminded him of his Father, stiff and severe. His Mother hadn't let him buy anything too extreme and he was thankful, because now he knew they looked rather ridiculous on a teenager.

A blond model wizard walked out wearing a beautiful robe; it was a very pale shade of greyish mauve. It consisted on two layers, a thin almost transparent layer and the thicker layer beneath it that was a shade darker. A silk belt tightened the robe around the model's waist. It was simple. It had no embroidery or any other decorations. It was beautiful. He was sure he hadn't seen it last time, he'd have remembered it. It was perfect for the Quidditch cup, it was simple and definitely for summer yet elegant enough for the after-party.

The model turned around as though to leave and Draco abruptly said, “Stop”

He could feel that Tailor Twilfit was looking at him curiously. His curiosity was understandable since the tailor knew his style well and the robe didn't fit it. His Mother was staring at him too, surprised by his choice. The fair-haired Slytherin's style was so formal that Lady Malfoy often had to scold him and steer him towards more appropriate selections for a young wizard. However, here he was, looking longingly to a much less stiff and simpler robe than usual.

The time-traveller stood up and approached the model, “Turn around, please.”

The model followed his orders. Draco reached out and caressed the material, it was so soft. He really wanted it. It was perfect. He forced himself to maintain a stoic façade. Why the hell did he want so much a simple robe? It was true he hadn't been able to go shopping in ages but... of course, in the other time he had never been able to dress in robes like these. At first, because he wanted to look adult like and felt it would damage that image. Then, when he finally wanted to give in to his craving, it wouldn't have been a good idea to dress robes like that in front of Death Eaters. The robe made the model look elegant in its simplicity, yet he also made him look... slightly fragile. He turned to face his mother.

“What do you think? For the Quidditch World Cup?” he asked.

Mother's blue eyes widened slightly in surprise, she most likely had expected to force him into a less formal robe for the Quidditch World Cup. Tailor Twilfit also seemed flabbergasted, probably he was wondering whether Draco’s style had changed. The young Master Malfoy the tailor knew wouldn't be seen dead in that robe. Draco stopped himself from nibbling his full lower lip; the silence was getting to him.

A small smile tugged Lady Malfoy's thin lips, “I think it's perfect, Draco. You'll have to get a cloak though, at night it'll be cooler”

The fourteen-year-old nodded in acquiescence; he'd need a cloak and comfortable shoes if the events from his other time line repeated. The brunette tailor Twilfit put the robe aside and the collection show continued. Draco liked a light grey cloak, a pair of shoes which, according to a muggle born who had tried to insult the Slytherin in the past, looked like a girl's ballerinas, a belt, a champagne robe for formal wear and a casual ink grey tunic. Once it was obvious Draco had tired of looking, Tailor Twilfit led them to the changing rooms.

“This is your changing room, Heir Malfoy, Tailor Alfred, one of my assistants, will come to make the modifications in a minute”, stated the brunette Tailor Twilfit, as he signalled to a door.

Draco entered the room. It was a small room in burgundy colours. In the middle of the room, there was a small platform where the client would stand while the tailor modified the robe in front of a golden mirror, a small table on which there were needles amongst other things and a sofa on the side for the client's company. Draco walked to the thick curtains at the end of the room and parted them, his pickings were already there some lying on the velvet bench and some hanging from a golden clothes hook. The time traveller closed the curtains behind him and started changing. He wondered whether the same as last time would happen.

_Flash back_

_The fourteen-year-old Malfoy scowled, that tailor Alfred was taking his time! He had been there for at least fifteen minutes! The robe was becoming heavier. He shifted on the platform watching his reflection on the Rococo mirror: he was wearing a stern robe similar to his Father's, its cut was sharp and efficient and as the material was thick it fell heavily. He looked like his Father, a younger and weaker version of him at least. The though irritated him, why did he look weaker?_

_The door opened and an enormous wizard peeked in, sneering Draco exclaimed, “About time! I've been waiting for ages!”_

_The tall and well-built wizard came in, his clothes were richer than a mere tailor's, but the blond paid no notice. Nor did he notice the irritation in the water green eyes. The Slytherin huffed, scolding the tailor and boasting about how his Father was going to hear of this in the most superior voice he could utter._

_End of flash back_

Draco sighed as he took off his green robe and his under-robe and started to change into the mauve robe. He had soon discovered he had offended Lord Eadred Ravensdale who had in revenge humiliated him at every turn and as publicly as possible. Maybe this time he could handle it better? He thought for a moment as he walked to stand on the platform, he couldn't think of a polite way of saying 'why are you in my changing room?' but maybe he could just fake the confusion, but be nicer. The idea had merit.

He looked into the mirror. The greyish mauve was so pale that it looked almost white in well-lit changing room. The material fell gracefully to the floor looking light and diffuse. It was beautiful. He had to make it tighter at the upper body though, even when he tied the silk belt around his waist it still looked slightly big and it was a bit too long. He caressed his sides, it was so soft. He wondered what the material was.

The door opened and a brunette peeked in, Draco turned his head and smiled, “Ah, you must be Tailor Alfred! I think we might have to make the upper body tighter and to make it a couple of inches shorter.”

To his surprise, Lord Ravensdale nodded, came in and closed the door behind him. The older noble confidently approached the blond Slytherin and took a couple of needles from the table. Draco controlled his astonishment so that it wouldn't reflect on his pale face, he had expected the other aristocrat to correct him, why hadn't he?

The giant Ravensdale approached him. Even though the Slytherin was on the platform, the brunette Lord was almost a foot taller than him, standing 6 feet and 5 inches tall. Gently, Ravensdale moved the long platinum blond from his back to over his left shoulder. His enormous hands, then, with the same gentleness undid his belt and tightened the robe around him before he fixed it with the needles. The warm hands rested on his waist.

“Such a tiny waist”, Lord Ravensdale whispered almost in awe.

The fair-haired Malfoy stared down at the enormous hands uncomprehending, they wrapped around his waist, the fingers almost meeting each other. The brunette aristocrat moved closer to him until Draco could almost feel his all his back touching the Lord Ravensdale's front. He felt the older aristocrat's breath against his uncovered long elegant neck, his head jerked up to see from the mirror that the older wizard was bending to... kiss his neck?

The Slytherin Prince pulled away, putting his hand on the other's abdomen to stop him from coming closer, his voice weak and confused when he asked, “What-what are you doing?”

The thin lips of Eadred Ravensdale had just started to pull in a smirk when the door was opening again, someone called, “Eadred?”

 “Here”, simply said Lord Ravensdale, Draco made sure to widen his eyes in surprise.

The golden-blond Wilbur Norton entered the room pausing when he saw the situation. Draco blushed darkly; he could only imagine what Norton was thinking! The image must be rather peculiar for Wilbur Norton: a petite blond had his small hand on his friend's abdomen as though to keep him away and his friend Ravensdale smirking like a cat that ate the canary. Draco obviously looked confused and it was obvious from his posture and manner that he was a client, not a model. The blond Malfoy dropped his hand, hoping to stop continuing the peculiar scene. He opened his mouth to ask when Tailor Twilfit walked into the room.

“Lord Ravensdale, Mr Norton! What a pleasure to see you!” the brown-haired tailor Twilfit greeted them.

“Tailor Twilfit”, responded the smirking pureblood Ravensdale.

“Do you know each other?” Twilfit asked with curiosity looking at Draco and Eadred, a fitting question as both were nobles yet of different age.

“OH, no! I was looking for you when I came in, I just stopped to compliment him on his magnificent choice”, said the aristocrat Eadred Ravensdale.

“It is, indeed, an excellent choice, Heir Malfoy. The colouring suits you well”, praised enthusiastically Twilfit.

Both Ravensdale and Norton looked astonished to hear the delicate fair-haired wizard was a Malfoy and not only a Malfoy, but the Heir. After a second, they hid their bewilderment. Draco smirked. He loved the reactions when people found out of his ancestry.

“Well, young Malfoy, we should leave to start our meeting. We will meet again.” Lord Ravensdale smirked confidently, eyeing the lithe blond Malfoy.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco dressed into his dinner robe, it aligned with his father's style but the thin material made it look less stern. He watched himself in the mirror, the robe was a vivant green, which contrasted nicely with his pale constitution. He frowned, his white under-robe was peaking under his collar.

“Poppy, undo the buttons for me,” he asked immediately.

The house-elf who had been helping him dress waved her small hand and the long row of tiny buttons at the aristocrat's back popped open. Poppy helped him to get out of the robe without wrinkling it, never touching the robe or Draco, of course. Then, she walked into one of the closets leaving the pale beauty standing in front of the mirror in his dressing room alone.

The blond looked at himself in the mirror, a flash of having Lord Eadred Ravensdale behind him; his enormous warm hands resting on his waist crossed his mind. A deep pink blush tinted his cheeks and he looked away, his back and waist tingling after remembering the warmth. He wrapped his creamy arms around himself. Why had the pureblood Lord acted like that? He had never showed the slightest interest in his other life, and yet here, he barged into his room and molested him!

Well, Draco amended, hugging him could hardly attest as molesting him. But still! The Malfoy Heir had been vulnerable, his wand left with his original clothes. He had been in a dressing room with a robe too big on him that would have easily fallen to the floor if the older aristocrat had tugged it. His cheeks heated at the thought and he shook his blond head violently trying to dispel the thought.

He had been so ashamed and unsure of how to act that he had stayed in his dressing room for longer than he had in his other life, not wishing to encounter the Lord when he left. What was the Head of Ravensdale playing at? Was he trying to seduce him? Poppy returned with another under-robe whose neck was wider and the Slytherin Prince pushed his doubts to the back of his mind, opting to focus on dinner with the Segraves.

He studied the robe on him; it was formal albeit not too formal for a dinner with his father's business friends. He bit his lower lip and turned in front of the mirror, would the green be taken as flaunting his school house like a little boy? But green looked good on him, with his pale constitution he had to be careful with which colours he wore.

It was a lively colour, so the robe wouldn’t look so similar to his father, which had given a rather childish impression in the past. At the same time, it was close enough in style to his father and in colour to what he wore before, that it wouldn’t seem like a radical change for Draco to wear. Poppy stood to attention next to him, her eyes wide as she observed her Master.

“Mistress Narcissa is approaching your quarters, Master Draco, she's almost at the front door,” informed his house-elf, having felt his mother's magical signature.

“I see, fetch me the beige shoes”, he ordered absentmindedly studying himself on the mirror, he’d rather wear grey or black shoes but he wanted to distance himself from the dark and sober colours he wore before. He was not an adult, pretending to be a forty-something-year-old wizard would only make him look ridiculous. And after months of seeing only black and grey, he didn’t want to wear the colour.

He put on his shoes and he went to the small antechamber that led to his rooms. As soon as his mother knocked he opened the door with a smile. His mother looked the epitome of an elegant pureblood Lady, with her dark blue robe that made her fairness stand out more.

“Mother, you look beautiful”, said the teenager, the compliment falling from his lips easily.

His mother looked so young. She was young, especially being a witch, but the months with the Dark Lord as a “guest” had been very tasking on her. As a true Lady, she had always kept her composure, even when a giant snake was eating Professor Charity Burbage in her dinning room. However, it had still taken a lot out of her.

Narcissa smiled at the sincere compliment, “Thank you, Draco. Now remember that Lady Lavinia has a cousin who is a Squib, so be sure not to mention anything regarding muggles or squibs in degrading terms”

The pale blond nodded dutifully, wincing when he remembered the faux passé in the last dinner he had had with the Segraves. He had made a seemingly innocent comment about muggles, but his tone hadn’t been particularly appreciative. Although the Segraves knew the Malfoy’s position on certain matters, it wasn’t necessary to comment them in such a discourteous way.

He followed his mother to the entrance hall, purebloods didn’t really use the Floo for semi-formal or formal visits, since it tended to ruffle their outfit and there were more comfortable means to arrive. Traditionally, they didn’t use the Floo because the magic had interfered with spells and magical objects that were worn. However, with time most of the magical interference had been solved.

Despite having solved the problem, it had become traditional to arrive by other means in more formal visits. European wizards in particular tended to favour carriages, the more exotic the animal that was transporting the carriage, the more influence the wizard held. It was one of the sole reasons his father bred Abraxans. Well, that and the joy they were to ride.

It wasn’t uncommon for British wizards to have a ride around their property or have hunting parties. It was regarded as far more elegant than riding a broom. Anyone could ride a broom with a varying degree of proficiency, but riding a horse-like animal (be it Abraxans, Pegasus, Bucephalus, Cartazonon, etc.) with grace required training. It was one of the million distinguishing factors pureblood wealthy wizards prided themselves on.

A group of four black Pucas led Lord Segrave and Lady Segrave’s carriage. Pucas were magical horses. However, they couldn’t fly or go through water like other species. Having Pucas was somewhat common for minor noble Houses like Segraves since Pucas were rather tame and not unique enough to be appealing to the wealthier and raise their price. 

When the Head of the House of Segrave and his wife descended the carriage, Draco took a deep breath and put on his most charming smile. This time, he would be the perfect pureblood heir and wouldn’t mess up like last time. He would prove that he could do it, that he wouldn’t shame his parents with childish behaviour.

Dinner went on without a hitch. The teenager’s manners were spot on through the six-course meal, enjoying the delicatessens that weren’t available in Hogwarts. The meals at school were hearty, but they were designed to be mass meals. There was none of the delicate play of flavours that happened with the meals at home. The cook house-elves that the Malfoys possessed had gone through extensive training and could easily compete with any chef.

Draco made enough conversation to not look as though his parents shielded him, but not too much, which would make him look too eager. It was a delicate balance that had taken him too long to learn in his last chance. He made some tasteful and witty comments that made his father chuckle and Lady Lavinia giggle.

When the night came to an end, the Lady Segrave openly complimented his parents on their heir while Lord Segrave nodded in agreement with a smile on his face. Both of the Segraves entered their carriage looking distinctly different than the last time for Draco.

This time, the Segraves had enjoyed their evening tremendously and would probably politely brag about their dinner with the Malfoys and make references to their polite Heir. Last time, they had gossiped about how their Heir, compared to his parents, wasn’t up to par.

What Draco enjoyed the most of the whole ordeal was the look of pride his parents sent him. The way his father’s warm hand squeezed his shoulder in pride, the soft kiss on the cheek from his mother. The small smiles on their faces after receiving the compliment on their son. It made the Hogwarts student feel fulfilled and satisfied.

He walked to his rooms and wondered how this would change his life. Last time it had been a disaster, yet this time it had been a success. Draco wondered how it would change his introduction to society. It had been a day of successes: he hadn’t had a row with his friends, he had the perfect robe to not make a fool of himself in the Quidditch Cup and dinner had gone splendidly.

Maybe his parents would bring him along in Lord Ignatious Thackeray’s bonding this time; it had been one of the events of the summer. The Thackeray House was one of the most Ancient and Noble Houses of Britain and the consort, Annabel, was from the House of Garrick, held a similar level of status. What made the bonding truly especial was that Annabel Garrick was an Omega.

Most people in the Wizarding World were betas. In fact, one could almost forget that Alphas and Omegas existed. After all, dynamics weren’t asked in polite society and Alphas usually were like dominant Betas. Only battle or the presence of an Omega marked a difference. The Wizarding World also suffered such a shortage of Omegas that the joining of an Alpha and an Omega was simply unique and beautiful.

Alphas and Omegas were made for each other and as a rule tended to fit together better. It made the magic of their bonding breathtaking. At least, that was what he had read last time. He hoped this time his parents would bring him along to the wedding. He wanted to attend so much, and it had been such a disappointment last time when he wasn’t asked.

This time he probably would be asked, though. The wedding was after the World Cup so he had plenty of time to convince his parents that he was ready. He started stripping the green robe and changing into his sleeping robe, recalling the proud expressions of his parents.

That night the petite blond went to his luxurious bed, drowning in the high-thread sheets, with a small contented smile on his pink lips. He would do better than last time.


	5. Chapter 5

Draco rouse slowly, his pale eyelashes fluttering as his grey eyes tried to become accustomed to the light. His house-elf must have parted the curtains to wake him up, as she did every morning. The blond sighed curling into the comfort of his bed, the soft sheets caressing his bare arms. He really didn’t want to wake up. Draco was prone to indulgence in the mornings, waking up late when he didn’t have breakfast with his parents. He didn’t like to be late for breakfast when his parents were there because his father wouldn’t tolerate such thing.

Luckily, his father had commented yesterday that he had a business meeting early in the morning so he wouldn’t be there for breakfast. His father was meeting with Lord Nott in Nott’s manor in Derbyshire to speak about some investments the two men had in some companies. As peers in status and heritage, his father and Lord Nott were good friends.

His mother had also other commitments. She was having tea with some other ladies to organise an event for one of her charities. If Draco was right, the event aimed to preserve the natural habitat of the Fionnula’s forest. It was a large terrain that contained a beautiful forest full of magical creatures. It was of great importance as the fey lines of power ran through it. It was important to keep those lines protected to not contaminate the magical energy of the British Islands.

Draco sighed of contentment. He could just rest and relax today. After all, his first social interaction as a growing pureblood wizard had gone so well. He smiled happily. He was sure that this time he would be a better example of a pureblood young man. Yes, his introduction to pureblood society was going without a hitch and everything would be alright…

The stab of fear was sudden as the Dark Lord appeared in his mind. The image was one of the many he had collected of the wizard during his stay in Malfoy Manor: the unnaturally thin and pale wizard, with no nose or body hair, his skeletal frame covered with ill-fitting black robes that made him resemble a Dementor and blood straining his shoes.

For a brief second, Draco’s terror was so absolute he forgot to breathe. He could feel his heart pounding violently against his chest as though it wanted to escape his body to safe itself. He was beating his lower lip, struggling not to scream. The spot in his forearm where the Dark mark had been placed felt absolutely filthy and Draco had the irrational urge to carve out the skin there. He didn’t want anything of that monster.

He felt as though the Dark Lord would cross his bedroom’s door in any second, which was illogical since the Dark Lord had never been in his room. The Dark Lord was likelier to summon him to torture him. Yet, now that the Dark Lord had crossed his mind he couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Draco started breathing again. He recalled his father’s lessons in emotional control. His father had had to step up those lessons due to the Dark Lord’s presence, it wasn’t the first time Draco had felt absolute terror at the thought of the Dark Lord, especially when he had been assigned his task. He could almost hear his father’s urgent voice, telling him to calm down and inhale and exhale slowly.

Slowly, terribly slowly, his fear began to recede and Draco’s rationality returned to him. He tried to calm down, to think of the situation with the Slytherin cunning and resourcefulness he should have. The blond had grown up surrounded by the stories of his amazing ancestors who surmounted impossible obstacles, Draco would also have to surmount his impossible obstacle.

His social anxiety had been relieved, but he faced another fear. While he had been worrying about social engagements, he hadn’t thought at all on the Voldemort situation. He had been in denial; he had only wanted to relive the safety and warmth of his younger years. Yes, it was pleasing the fact that he had a chance to change all the damage he had done to his House’s reputation and his own personal image. However, the mad wizard that wanted to destroy his House was a bit more important than that.

The young Malfoy didn’t want to think about it. Every time he remembered the Dark Lord, uncertainty and fear preyed his mind. But he couldn’t let that stop him. He had a second chance to do _something_ about the Dark Lord, even though Draco had no idea of what to do.

As he laid in his comfortable bed, in the very same room he had felt such relief to be back to, he just felt lost. He didn’t have any direction on what to do. He had never expected to be in this situation. OH, he had wished intensely that the Dark Lord hadn’t resurrected upon seeing the mad, cruel wizard. Yet it had never been a possibility and he had tried to avoid those thoughts, since the Dark Lord’s Legilimency was powerful.

He couldn’t stop the Dark Lord from coming back. He wasn’t even sure of _how_ he had come back. He knew it had been a ritual of some sort and that it had involved Potter. He had hypothesized that Potter entering the tournament had been to strengthen the power of the ritual, since the elaborate scheming to kidnap Potter seemed void otherwise. However he was sure that if he stopped the kidnapping, Potter would be abducted in another manner.

So stopping the Dark Lord from coming back wasn’t an option. Not going back to the Dark Lord when he returned was also not an option. Traitors of the Dark Lord were brutally tortured and murdered. Draco knew; he had had to witness his fair share of torture and death. It had come to the point where the blond feared more the torture than death. It was ironic that the most capable torturer was his own aunt Bellatrix.

He shuddered at the thought of the mad woman; it was hard to imagine his mother was related to that creature. Strangely enough it wasn’t due to her cruelty, Draco was certain his mother could be very cruel, it was due to her lack of restraint. His mother was always controlled and keeping her composure, like most dark purebloods. Bellatrix had long stopped being concerned by such matters. It was chilling to see how she lost herself to the moment of throwing dark curses after dark curses.

He turned on the bed, the soft sheets caressing his bare arms. He rested on his side, his grey eyes fixed on one of the tapestried of his bedroom. He wanted nothing more than not having to worry about Voldemort. He felt proud for even thinking that name; it was the thrill of the forbidden. He wished the Dark Lord would never appear again in his life.

Sadly, that was impossible. He was in the past and he knew that sooner or later, the Dark Lord would come back. The only possible option was to make sure the Dark Lord was actually pleased with them instead of frothing for their blood. The Dark Lord had wanted nothing more than to destroy House Malfoy. He knew he had blamed his father for not using his vast resourced to aid his weak wandering spirit. Although there was also something more personal, he had heard something about a diary.

How could Draco make the Dark Lord pleased to have them by his side when he returned? How did one please a mad wizard? The petite blond turned on his back again, his grey eyes contemplating the boring ceiling blankly. He just didn’t see how he could solve this problem. Although he had returned to the past, he hadn’t gone back enough to aid their Lord in good timing. Even if they helped now, they would have spent thirteen years without aiding the Dark Lord, he was bound to be furious.

Gods, what could he do? He felt as lost as he had felt when Death Eaters had invaded his house. It was even worse than when he realised the Dark Lord didn’t actually honour pureblood tradition. He felt helpless as though he had no chance to change the future even though he was in the past, in what should have been a prime position for change.

Since he was a child, every time Draco had felt lost or uncertain he had always sought his parents. The young Malfoy had always had the absolute certainty that his parents, especially his father, could solve every problem in the world. He had always believed that his father knew everything there was to know in their world.

The presence of the Dark Lord in his home had harshly broken that illusion. His proud, powerful, perfect father had fallen from the mighty pedestal Draco had created in his mind for him. To Draco, his mother was still almost the same perfect witch. Despite everything, his mother still seemed to know what to do, even if they were things she disliked, and how to keep Draco safe.

Draco studied his white ceiling. Could he do what he would have done two years ago: seek his parents for help? Surely if his parents had forewarning of the Dark Lord’s return, they could do something, _anything_. His resolve was starting to strengthen: yes, his parents weren’t perfect. But they still were powerful and cunning purebloods that were capable of great achievements. His parents had managed to survive the Dark Lord with only a few minutes of warning of the Dark Lord’s return, what could they do with a nine-month warning?

The young Malfoy felt relief at the thought. He felt as though a great burden had been lifted from his chest, allowing him to breathe more easily. The next question would be what to tell his parents. If he told them he had come from the future it would led more credence to his claims, but Draco felt an odd reluctance at the thought. He didn’t want to have to tell his parents what a failure his introduction to society had been. It was stupid, since the Dark Lord was a matter of survival and yet…

He could also tell them of Potter’s visions. Draco had spied on his archenemy enough to know that Potter’s curse scar had had some unexpected side effects. He knew Potter’s scar hurt when the Dark Lord was angry, for instance. But would his parents trust him only based on Potter’s scar? And that awful business with the unicorn blood, of course, couldn’t forget that.

He decided he would start the conversation with only Potter’s visions and the unicorn blood from first year. If his parents didn’t react appropriately, he would tell them of his time travel. His family wouldn’t go through what they had in the past years again, he wouldn’t allow them to.


	6. Chapter 6

Draco swallowed another bite of pheasant with difficulty. He had little to no appetite, since he had decided to tell his parents of the Voldemort situation he had found himself restless and uneasy for the rest of the day. His greatest fear was for his parents to laugh off his fears. After all, his parents had been living thirteen years of peace and had heard no rumours about the Dark Lord. Why should they believe him?

He glanced at his parents. They both seemed to be enjoying the pheasant and exchanging pleasant conversation about their activities that day. Draco knew that they weren’t discussing everything, as they rarely did in front of him. The more private details would be discussed at their bedroom, later, when they prepared for bed. Only pleasant things were discussed at the dinner table; that had always been an unsaid rule at home.

A rule Voldemort had not respected, torturing a Muggle Studies teacher right there. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. For a second, he could have sworn he saw the Dark Lord stroll behind his Father. He bit his lower lip, he hoped he was not going mad. He had been having flashes of the Dark Lord ever since he had acknowledged his existence this morning. It was utterly terrifying.

He truly hoped he had not gone mad. He supposed that his mind hadn’t been able to go into full panic mode when Voldemort had been looming over his head, and now he was _processing_. Merlin, he hoped his parents didn’t believe him mad either and he hoped this difficulty wouldn’t last long.

The dinner seemed to go on forever. Every second was excruciating. However, when the desserts –delicious coulants with Italian vanilla gelato- were brought out, Draco was filled with even more anxiety. Suddenly, he doubted what he was going to say exactly and how he was going to say it. Despite loving chocolate, he ate the delicious coulant mechanically, without savouring the rich texture and flavour of the recipe the Malfoy’s house-elves had took fifty years perfecting.

Then his father was calling upon him and Draco stared at his father helplessly. Lord Malfoy was standing from his seat and watching him expectantly. He hadn’t listened to a single word of what his patriarch had just said. His father realised it and his cold grey eyes stared at him sternly.

“Excuse me, Father, I was distracted”, he apologised blushing, chastised.

“Draco, you said you wished to speak with us after dinner?” inquired again his father, his tone belying his impatience.

The fourteen-year-old stood up abruptly, “Yes, yes, there was something I wished to discuss with both of you”

They retired to a small private salon. Draco had rarely been in it since that was where his parents usually retired after dinner when he was sent to bed. His patriarch sat down on an impressive fauteuil of dark leather, while his mother sat down on the comfortable sofa. As soon as they were seated a house-elf with a tray appeared, on it was his father’s favourite whiskey and his mother’s grey tea.

Draco stood awkwardly for a moment, wondering where he should sit. Finally, he decided to sit next to his mother on the comfortable sofa. Unwittingly, he found himself mimicking his mother and placing his hands on his lap and crossing his ankles. He breathed in, trying to remain calm.

“You wished to speak with us, Draco?” encouraged his mother.

“Yes”, he said, “I- I would like to speak of an event that happened during my first year. At the time I was too overwhelmed and I wanted to believe it was but a nightmare… But due to recent events I think it is important information for the future of our House”

Lord Malfoy narrowed his grey eyes at the mention of their house, as the Patriarch it was his duty to protect it and make it prosper. His mother seemed concerned at Draco’s grave words, her blue eyes researching his pale face for any clue on what it could involve.

“During my first year, I served a detention with Harry Potter in the Forbidden Forest”, started Draco.

“In the Forbidden Forest?” inquired his mother, her tone cold. The Malfoy Heir knew his mother enough to there was rage in her voice which was understandable: it was definitely not standard procedure to have first years serve detention in the Forbidden Forest.

“Narcissa”, called her sharply his father, making it clear that she shouldn’t interrupt Draco. His expression was enough to tell his mother that they would come back to the matter of the Forbidden Forest later.

“The Gatekeeper told us that a creature had been hunting unicorns. Our task was to find an injured unicorn that had left a trail of blood”, continued Draco.

His parents’ eyes became even more calculating at the mention of the unicorn blood. Like most purebloods, they also seemed uncomfortable at the idea of a hurt unicorn. Most wizards believed unicorns to be the expression of light magic. However, dark wizards knew unicorns to be the most pure expression of magic. Unicorns weren’t inherently light as most foolish light wizards believed, otherwise they would be averse to dark wizards and that wasn’t the case.

“The Gatekeeper divided us into two groups. Potter and I were sent on our way with only a _dog_ for protection. We followed the trail and found the unicorn… but it wasn’t alone. The creature that had hunted it was there still, drinking its blood”, had his parents been less composed purebloods, they would have gasped, “The creature looked almost like a Dementor. He seemed to glide and he didn’t seem entirely corporeal. I escaped the terrible creature as it went to attack Potter. Potter escaped unharmed. Then, at the end of the year, Potter had to spend a week at the Infirmary and the most troublesome rumours ran through the school”

Draco paused. He hoped his parents wouldn’t tell him he was being silly and his story was unbelievable. He hoped they also would believe his warnings of the Dark Lord’s insanity. He hoped they would believe the rumours he would tell them. The grapevine in Hogwarts was occasionally accurate, one only had to distinguish the truth from all the other rumours. Luckily, after loosing the House cup to Potter, Draco had been highly motivated to investigate. He had believed the rumours at the time to be absurd, just propaganda for Dumbledore. Yet his later in life experience had proved the seemingly outlandish rumours to be the truth.

“They said that the Philosopher’s Stone had been hidden in Hogwarts, hence the dire warning to stay away from the third floor. They also said that the Dark Lord is alive, although without a physical body. They said that the Dark Lord found out and possessed Professor Quirrell to acquire the stone. They said that Potter and the Dark Lord had a confrontation over the Philosopher’s Stone. Somehow, Potter managed to cast the Dark Lord’s spirit out of Quirrell’s body. I don’t know _how_ , but there were murmurs on his mother’s love protecting him. I do know that Quirrell died in that episode”

Draco finished his story. He feared his parents’ reaction and studied his faces carefully. However, his parents were cultured purebloods and it was hard to distinguish their true feelings from the ice mask they portrayed. At least, his father hadn’t already stood up exclaiming what madness all this was. In fact, his father seemed very still and his mother didn’t even seem to be breathing.

The Malfoy patriarch smelled his potent whiskey and closed his grey eyes briefly before opening them again, “The Dark Lord always told us that he had gone further than any other wizard into the path of immortality”

“Father, from what I understood it didn’t… it didn’t sound like the Dark Lord was- healthy of mind”, said stutteringly Draco, his reluctance painted in every word.

Lord Malfoy sighed, suddenly looking very old for a young wizard in his forties, and exchanged a look with his mother, “I didn’t wish for you to know, Draco. I wanted for you to know only of the noble fight for the dark cause. However, if he’s plotting his return… The Dark Lord did a series of rituals that damaged his mind. By the end of it, it was almost a relief to know of his demise”

“We feared his return in the first few years”, said his mother, her tone emotionless, “However, after seven years passed without any rumour of his continuing existence, we believed he might died”

The Malfoy Heir understood what his mother was not saying. His parents had used every single one of their extensive resources to try to locate the Dark Lord or information on him without any avail and had finally found relief after eight years. This must quite a blow to their illusion of safety.

“What-what are we going to do?” he inquired scared.

His father smiled at him soothingly, “Do not worry, Draco, we shall look into the matter and come up with an appropriate plan”

Disbelief at his patriarch’s patronizing response filled his entire body. How could just leave it all in his parents’ hands? He would go mad if he didn’t know what they planned to do about the Dark Lord, already he was seeing flashes of the mad wizard. Maybe if he knew the plan or helped to make it, he would feel saver or, better yet, _be_ saver.

“But-but, Father, this is _dangerous_. He must be angry with our family for not aiding him”, he protested.

“Draco”, said his mother calmly, her hand finding his and squeezing it comfortingly, “we know we will be out of favour with the Dark Lord. Fear not, we shall prepare accordingly and we will tell you on what we decide upon. However, it is our duty as parents to protect you and we shall”

He felt slightly better at his mother’s assurances, yet he was still scared. He knew his parents were brilliant and cunning, they were one of the most dangerous pairings in pureblood society. However, the Dark Lord was also bright even if mad. His insanity made him particularly unpredictable. Well, that wasn’t exactly the truth there was one pattern for the Dark Lord’s actions: killing Potter.

“Well, from what I heard, the Dark Lord seems to be fixated on Potter as the cause of his demise. I also think Potter’s scar is connected to the Dark Lord in some manner, he always had headaches when he was around Professor Quirrell”, he said reluctantly, hoping that the evident piece of information would aid his parents somehow.

“Draco, we shall take care of it, fear not”, said his mother softly, “It will be helpful if you could get a more detailed account on the events that transpired that night and Potter’s scar connection. Now, please go to sleep, we shall talk again on the matter when we have more information”

Grudgingly, he stood up to leave. He knew he would gain nothing more from opposing his parents this night. At the very least, they seemed to be taking the threat seriously and seemed to realise that the Dark Lord was still completely insane.

“And Draco” called his father for him when he was just leaving the salon.

“Yes, father?” the young blond inquired politely.

“Make sure not to mention this to anyone. We wouldn’t wish to bring anyone’s attentions on this matter”, warned his patriarch sternly.

The time traveller bit his tongue. He couldn’t believe his father was treating him like such a child that he had to be warned not to blab to anyone, “Yes, father. Good night, mother”

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

The pureblood Malfoy Heir went down to family breakfast with his heart in his throat. He was wondering what his parents would say about the entire Dark Lord situation. He was the first to arrive, a rare event, and he was almost at the edge of his seat with impatience. He truly wanted to know what his parents would say on the matter after speaking privately yesterday.

“Good morning, Draco”, greeted his mother, with a soft smile on her beautiful face as she sat down.

“Good morning, Mother”, he answered politely, knowing his mother would say nothing until his father arrived.

He stared at the eggs, biting down his questions. The house-elves as always had put an amazing spread of food. There were boiled eggs, yogurt, fruits, cheese, marmalades, and toasts, as well as different sorts of tea. The richer breakfast foods such as bacon and fried eggs or pastries were saved for special occasions. Although they did have pastries some times for tea time, especially if there were guests. As a rule though, the Malfoys tended to eat healthy albeit elaborate dishes unless there were guests or it was a special occasion.

“Good morning, Narcissa, Draco”, stated his Father as he strode into the room, the very image of a pureblood Lord.

His Father was decked in dark blue robes that were detailed in silver, the colours of House Malfoy. This meant today his father would meet with some important people. His Father was also wearing his Head of House Malfoy ring, a big sapphire set in white gold, and there were elaborate runes in the white gold. Draco could feel the familiar power of House Malfoy from where he was sitting.

Heads of Houses rarely wore their signet rings on a day-to-day basis anymore. On one hand, the signet rings were very powerful and could be considered a weapon. On the other hand, wearing the signet ring every day would be like wearing dress robes everyday. It was simply inappropriate in today’s society. His Father usually wore a more discrete ring with the crest of House Malfoy.

It took a second for Draco to respond as he took in his father’s attire, “Good morning, Father”

His Father took his place at the head of the table and started serving himself. Once his Father had started, Draco and his mother started as well. The teenage picked yogurt with blueberries and some crushed hazelnuts, he would later also eat toast with Camembert and strawberry marmalade. Draco always had liked Camembert even if some would consider it too strong a cheese for breakfast.

“Who are you meeting today, Father?” blurted out the time-traveller, unable to contain his curiosity, “Has it anything to do with-”

“Draco!” barked his Father, his grey eyes serious and severe, “We agreed that you would leave that matter in our hands until we had more information”

“But Father-”, started to protest Draco, he would go crazy if he didn’t know what they were doing to prepare for the Dark Lord.

His Father’s silver eyes narrowed, “Draco”

Immediately, Draco closed his mouth and lowered his eyes. It wasn’t his place to contradict his Patriarch, no matter how worried he was. There was a beat of silence.

“Draco”, his Father started in a much softer tone, “I understand you’re worried. However, I am the Lord of House Malfoy. I shall take care of this; you must trust me”

“I would just like to help”, muttered sullenly the blond.

“You’re my heir and I would keep you appraised, because this matter pertains the whole family. However, your training in the mental arts isn’t developed enough for me to trust you with sensitive matters regarding the Dark Lord”, responded kindly his Father.

The blond swallowed, his Aunt Bellatrix had trained him on Occlumency. He had quickly improved to be away from her. His training was definitely up to par. But he couldn’t tell his Father that since he didn’t want to say that he was a time-traveller.

“And when my training is more developed?” inquired Draco.

His Father regarded him seriously, “Then I shall share information with you, until then, the best you can do is to compile all the information you have on the situation and give it to us”

“Yes, Father, thank you”, he answered quietly.

It was a great sign of trust for his Father to promise to share information with him on such grave matters. Given how his last year had gone, he felt humbled by the sign of trust even though he had practically demanded it. He was also glad that his Father was taking this as seriously as it merited. The rest of breakfast passed in comfortable silence and as soon as it was finished Draco rushed upstairs: he still needed to gather all the information for his parents.

 

Draco stared at mess of the numerous parchments covering his Rosewood desk. He inhaled slowly. He had been trying to write down all the important information he knew about the Dark Lord and Harry Potter. He had been using different parchments and different colours of ink to distinguish between what he knew for sure, what information he shouldn’t know, how reliable the information was, etc. It had quickly become a mess of half-finished thoughts.

He sighed. He needed to start from the beginning and then organise the information. It would be easier that way, especially to avoid confusing information from the future. He gathered all the parchments and put the in a neat pile, then he took out a new parchment clearly labelling it as “First Year”. On it, he wrote the experience at the forest, Potter’s behaviour around Quirrell and all he knew about the confrontation between Harry Potter and the Dark Lord over the Philosopher’s stone.

He frowned as he read over the First Year again, “And then Dumbledore gave Potter a lot of points for stopping the Dark Lord? Since when defeating Dark Lord is a school approved activity?”

He put the parchment down. The incongruous thought roaming his mind. Dumbledore’s behaviour after Potter had risked his life had been pleased and he had rewarded Potter. From what he remembered, there had been no speeches about not risking his safety. No adult had come for Potter either when he was in the Infirmary. When Draco had been in the Infirmary in Third Year, both of his parents had been called. He thought that was standard procedure.

So how could it be that Potter had been in the Infirmary so long and not a single adult had showed up? And Draco knew no one had shown up, because he had taunted Potter over it and his rival had turned that particular red shade of anger and angst that signalled Draco was right. He didn’t think anyone had shown up for Potter’s friends either, he could understand Granger since she was a muggleborn, but Weasley? Well, his siblings were there. So he supposed family had visited him.

Still it was fishy that no one cared for the Boy-Who-Lived. Potter lived with muggles and the relationship was supposedly “not good at all”. Potter’s clothes from the muggle world were poor and big. Draco had thought it might be some sort of muggle trend and muggle clothes were always of poorer quality than magical. Yet, it probably meant what Draco had always taunted Potter about: the muggles didn’t care for him.

“And why did Dumbledore hide the Philosopher’s stone at Hogwarts? And it was conveniently Potter’s First Year at Hogwarts?” he mused over the question, his brow furrowed in thought, “But Potter has never had a quiet year, has he? During first year there was the Philosopher’s stone, during second the Chamber of Secrets, the next Sirius Black and in Fourth Year the Triwizard Tournament”

He paused. In every year, Dumbledore had encouraged Potter’s crazy shenanigans. He closed his grey eyes, was he reading too much into this? He was getting off track as well. He was supposed to be writing down Potter and the Dark Lord’s connection, not with Dumbledore! Although, he supposed it was ok to make a note of it. After all, it was curious that Dumbledore, a Headmaster of a children’s school, would disregard a student’s safety in such a manner.

Distributed by year, he wrote every single thing he remembered and classified it by: facts, hearsay and rumours. When he read it all over again, despite himself, he felt a rush of sympathy for his rival. Draco had been terrified of the Dark Lord, even when he knew they were allies, he couldn’t imagine what eleven-year-old Potter must have felt meeting his nemesis for the first time.

The information from the future, he carefully placed it around the other years under hearsay and rumours. He wanted to give his parents all the information there was, but he didn’t want to be too obvious about it. He didn’t want to tell them he was from the future. He didn’t want to disappoint them by telling them of his performance in the past year. Hopefully, he wouldn’t need to.

By the time he was finished, his head was pounding and his fingers were coloured with different inks. He rolled up the long three parchments. He had to trust that his parents would know what to do with all the information. He had to trust that his warning had been enough to change the future and that when the Dark Lord arose again, the Malfoys wouldn’t be in a weakened position again.

“Poppy”, he called clearly.

His personal house-elf appeared immediately, her big round eyes focused on Draco, “Yes, Master Draco?”

“Take this to Mother”, he ordered curtly, feeling his headache worsen at the high-pitched voice of the house-elf as he handed over the parchments.

The female magical creature nodded obediently and took the parchments. Then she disappeared with a loud pop. Draco rolled his grey eyes; he knew that house-elves were useful and loyal, yet he found them… irritating. Maybe it was their voices or maybe it was their poor articulated thoughts, but when he was in a bad mood, the house-elves seemed to become unbearable.


	8. Chapter 8

Draco Malfoy stared at his reflection on the mirror. He tried to give a confident smile, but all he received from his reflection was a tremulous smile. He sighed in frustration. He was supposed to meet his friends in an hour in Perhaven, a small Wizarding village in the coast that was a joy to visit in the summer. Although British wizards tended to meet in their own homes, it was a custom of aristocratic wizards to visit certain places. As it was summer, Draco ought to visit Perhaven at least once.

He pursed his lips in annoyance; he was still shaken by his recollection of the Dark Lord and had no wish to be social. However, he had little choice in the matter. The visit to Perhaven had been decided upon weeks ago with his friends and they had a reservation to Ivory Cottage, the most famous restaurant in Perhaven. Life didn’t stop, no matter Draco’s troubles and it was for the best not to bring attention to Draco’s troubles.

He tugged the long hair to his back, his grey eyes studying his image. He just hoped he could fake normality. He had always thought he was a good actor, as a Slytherin and as a Malfoy. And yet, his tremulous smile mocked that idea. If he was lucky, he would relax amongst his friends and his unease would pass unnoticed.

He turned away from the mirror. He hated to rely on luck. He caressed his robe, as though to erase wrinkles he knew didn’t exist. At least he was wearing a robe more to his taste: it was in a pastel blue and made in a shavears’ silk. He liked shavears silk for everyday clothing because it was light and soft, but it wasn’t as luxurious as normal silk and it didn’t glitter under the light as much. The robe was informal enough to fit in the coastal village, yet elegant enough to mark him as a member of a Noble House.

“Master Draco is going to be late”, reminded him timidly his personal house-elf.

Irritation bloomed in his chest. The blond inhaled slowly, trying to contain his temper. Poppy was doing well, reminding him of the time. He shouldn’t take out his temper on her, no matter how annoying she was. He nodded sharply, not trusting himself to speak in a polite tone. He grabbed a small purse of galleons and put in one of his pockets, the pocket’s charm was well done and there was no noticeable difference in size even though now it contained the pouch. Draco shook his head as he remembered how unflattering the pockets in muggle clothes were when filled.

He used the carriage to take him to Perhaven. He could have used the Floo, but there was no public place in Perhaven to Floo to, unlike Diagon Alley or such. It was expected of the wizards to arrive in their carriages. Draco was fortunate enough that his family had Abraxans, a type of horse that could fly and was powerful and fast. The trip to Perhaven only took an hour from Wiltshire. He knew that Daphne Greengrass, whose family kept leckyls, a sort of horse that didn’t fly, needed almost one third longer to go to places than he.

He was nervous sitting in the elegant inside of his carriage. His friends knew him and he wasn’t sure he could fool them. But he did the exercises his Father had taught him to keep a perfect pureblood composure. He was glad that the driver, a wizard of low power by the name of Acton, couldn’t see him breathing in and out slowly and closing his eyes.

Finally, the carriage touched the pebbled ground of the village. The carriage kept going for a couple of minutes, before it came to a stop. From the window, Draco could see that they had landed in a common spot in the village for carriages to arrive, at Andrew’s square.

“Mister Malfoy, we have arrived to Perhaven”, announced Acton as he opened the door to the carriage and offered Draco a hand to step down.

“Thank you, Acton”, answered Draco as he took the hand with a thin smile, “I shall return to Malfoy Manor by Floo, so you need not wait for me”

Outside of the carriage, Draco could see that it was a rare sunny day in Perhaven. It wasn’t sunny like in his visits to the Zabini’s manse in Italy; there was no cloudless sky here. However, the sun was bright and there were only a few white clouds in the sky. There was a refreshing breeze that made Draco thank his long sleeves and the warming charms embroidered into his robe.

“Then I shall take my leave if you have no more need of me, Mister Malfoy?” inquired Acton.

“No, that would be all, Acton”, answered Draco, his grey eyes scanning the other carriages around them for one he could recognize.

“Goodbye, Mister Malfoy”, nodded Acton as he went to the front of the carriage.

“Goodbye Acton, have a safe trip”, responded the Malfoy Heir, politely.

“Draco!” called the familiar voice of Theodore Nott just a few minutes later.

The blond turned with a smile. Theo was accompanied by Daphne Greengrass and Pansy Parkinson. They only needed to wait for Blaise, then.

“Good morning”, he greeted them with an honest smile on his fair face.

Theo returned his smile and patted his arm in greeting, while both Daphne and Pansy kissed his cheek lightly. Daphne looked gorgeous, with her golden curls let loose and a green robe emphasizing her green eyes. Pansy looked pretty as well, with her black hair set in a crown braid and wearing a lavender robe that remarked her curves.

“You look beautiful, Pansy, Daphne”, he told them.

“And I don’t?” mocked Blaise’s voice behind him.

Draco laughed and turned to greet his friend, “So many words to describe you, Blaise… sadly, beautiful is not amongst them”

“You wound me, Malfoy”, sighed in dramatic sadness Blaise, his left arm hugging briefly Draco in greeting.

The group laughed at the performance and Pansy asked as she looked around, “What should we do first?”

“We could take a walk, the weather is spectacular today, for England anyway”, offered Blaise with a grin.

The other Slytherins nodded in agreement and they embarked in a walk through the boulevard that was parallel to the sea. The view was beautiful as the sea was a delightful green blue shade and the sun was shining brightly. They spoke of their summer; Pansy was particularly animated. If his friends thought that Draco was being unusually quiet, none of them said anything.

Draco smiled as Daphne told a story of just how annoying her little sister had managed to be so far this summer. Apparently, Astoria had committed the grave crime of stealing one of Daphne’s favourite robes and had dared to actually go out in public wearing it.

“Mister Malfoy”, called softly a deep voice behind him that made Draco’s heart skip a beat.

Daphne stopped her story, her pretty face growing curious. The petite blond turned around to see Lord Ravensdale, looking particularly handsome in a navy robe that highlighted his broad shoulders and strong chest. The Slytherin thought that the navy colour of the robe made Ravensdale’s eyes look greener and the colour was similar to the sea’s clear colour today. Wilbur Norton, who was standing next to his friend looking amused, accompanied the aristocrat.

“Lord Ravensdale, Mister Norton, it is a pleasure to see you today”, he greeted the Lord offering his hand.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mister Malfoy”, responded the Lord and to everyone’s surprise, kissed Draco’s hand instead of merely shaking it.

Draco’s cheeks turned a light pink at the gesture and, trying not to look flustered, he introduced his companions “And my companions are Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, this beautiful lady is Pansy Parkinson and this mesmerizing lady is Daphne Greengrass”

“A pleasure, this is my good friend Wilbur Norton”, smiled Lord Ravensdale, “I suppose you all attend Hogwarts together?”

“That is right, we all go to Slytherin”, agreed Draco meeting the water green eyes of Lord Ravensdale, he felt timid and shy for no reason.

“Ah, a noble house Slytherin, I myself went to Slytherin”, responded Lord Ravensdale keeping his eyes on Draco, not even sparing a glance to his companions.

The Malfoy swallowed, he felt like Lord Ravensdale gaze was rather intense. His heart was pounding against his chest and he could feel the heat in his cheeks. He lowered his silver eyes for a moment, to give himself a respite.

“That it is”, answered Draco with a nod.

Perhaps sensing Draco’s nerves, Lord Ravensdale gave a small smile and gave his farewell, “Well, it has been a pleasure to see you, Mister Malfoy, as always, and meet all your companions. I am afraid we have an early reservation at the Ivory Cottage, so we must leave, but I hope to see you soon”

“Likewise, Lord Ravensdale. Good bye”, said the petite blond with a shy smile.

“Good bye to you all”, said Lord Ravensdale and as suddenly as he had appeared, he walked away.

Draco could feel all his friends’ eyes on him as Lord Ravensdale walked away. Luckily, his friends had more sense than to interrogate him before Lord Ravensdale and Wilbur Norton had left their view. He could feel his cheeks burning, but he stubbornly kept a serene expression on his fair face.

“Draco”, said Pansy elongating his name, her meaning clear just from her tone.

“What?” he questioned defensively.

“Lord Ravensdale just kissed the back of your hand”, answered Theo drily.

“So?” responded Draco.

“He was flirting with you!” exclaimed Pansy, excited.

“It was nothing”, denied the Malfoy, attempting to be nonchalant.

“You turned the most fetching shade of pink for it to be nothing”, retorted Blaise teasingly.

“It was nothing”, he repeated again, this time more sharply than he intended.

His friends quietened for a second, then Daphne said softly, “If you are worried because you are the Heir of House Malfoy, your parents are young, Draco, they have years to have another Heir. You wouldn’t be letting your House down, if you preferred to be Consort Ravensdale instead of Lord Malfoy”

Draco didn’t respond and stared determinedly ahead, his face blank of any expression. He wasn’t even sure he liked Lord Ravensdale. The man made him feel flustered and uncomfortable. The thought of becoming a consort instead of Lord Malfoy had never crossed his mind before. Besides, the last thing he wanted is for his parents to have to worry of producing another Heir when the Dark Lord came back and he didn’t want to look weak in front of the Death Eaters.

“Is it the muggleborns’ opinions that are bothering you? It is perfectly natural for an alpha male and a beta male to be together, don’t let those idiotic muggle ideas bother you. They don’t even understand what an alpha is!” said Pansy.

“It’s not that. I don’t want to speak about it. Can we change the topic?” Draco finally said.

He knew his friends were exchanging glances, but they obediently went back to speaking about their summers. Despite that, he wondered why Pansy was so sure that Lord Ravensdale was an alpha. The man had a commanding presence and was physically bigger than normal male betas, but Pansy had been really sure about the man’s dynamic. It wasn’t important though, it wasn’t as though he would meet Lord Ravensdale again. This had just been a coincidence.


	9. Chapter 9

Draco Malfoy hurried towards the staircase, he could hear his Father pacing in impatience. As his Father was such a controlled man, he would only pace if he wanted to remark on his impatience. He tugged at the end of his mauve robe to make sure he wouldn’t trip over it.

His Father must be furious at the delay; Draco had taken longer than expected in preparing for the Quidditch Cup as he was, for some reason, extremely tired today. He hoped his Father wouldn’t scold him too harshly or simply decide to leave without him, which had actually been a punishment in the past. He grimaced at the thought of missing the Quidditch World Cup. His Father liked to arrive early at such social events to expand his web of contacts and warm his relationship with others.

The petite blond sighed in relief as he reached the grand staircase; his Father and his Mother were waiting at the bottom. Mother was looking lovely in a light blue silk robe, with her hair in a simple bun and aquamarines dangling from her ears. Father looked likewise handsome, in a strict traditional robe that was a light grey with white embroidery. He hurried downstairs, thankful for the thick Indian royal blue carpet that covered the slippery white marble stairs.

“Father”, he called as he was almost to the entrance hall.

His Father turned around, his displeasure clear in his aristocratic face. But his grey eyes widened as they looked upon Draco and his shoulders relaxed. His Mother seemed equally pleased, sporting a small smile on her fair face, although she had already seen this particular robe. The Slytherin felt himself blush at the stares.

“You look beautiful, Draco”, his Father told him as he kissed his brow fatherly.

“Thank you, Father”, the underage wizard replied still blushing becomingly.

His Father straightened his back again, his face becoming an expressionless mask again, “Now, it’s time to leave. It wouldn’t do to be late to such an event. There will be many important personalities with whom I wish to speak today”

On the carriage, his Father spoke of his desire to the Bulgarian Minister for Magic, Lord Oblansk. He spoke of his hope that Minister Fudge had done as he had suggested and looked for a translator to ease the communication. But his Father looked resigned as he spoke of this, as he knew that Minister Fudge had probably not followed the logical suggestion. They would be seated nearby as the Malfoy family was seated in the VIP spot. In the after party, he would also speak to quite a few more pureblood aristocrats.

“There will also be the Quidditch teams for a while”, added grudgingly his Father, knowing that his son would be excited to meet such celebrities, “Do, please, behave according to your station, Draco”

The petite blond blushed, remembering too well his excessive excitement in his last time meeting the Quidditch players. It had been incredibly unbecoming for a person of his status. Although he had been doing very well in his formal introduction to magical society so far, it seemed his Father still knew him well enough to suspect meeting his Quidditch idols would be an issue.

“Yes, Father”, he answered quietly.

Draco gasped silently. Last time he had been too busy sulking to watch out of the window, this time he had been wiser. The Abraxans were flying the carriage rather high, therefore the view from the window was simply spectacular. The Quidditch stadium was unbelievable as were the amount of tents around it. There seemed to be thousands upon thousands of rows of tiny tents. The Wizarding World rarely had such large congregations so it was particularly astonishing for the Slytherin.

“This stadium can hold one hundred thousand spectators”, said his Father, taking notice of his expression, “It took the Ministry an entire year to build”

“Are there a lot of protections set?” he inquired, as it was the only reason he thought a stadium would take so long to build with magic readily available to ease the task.

“Yes, muggles have developed some really annoying devices that cast pictures from the sky. It was very important to make them unable to see this gathering”, his Father frowned in irritation, “The Unspeakables took quite long to figure out how to avoid such notice. Do not fear, Draco, as soon as the solution was reached we also set those protections on our proprieties. The Minister, however, seems to think that the cost is too high to set it in Diagon Alley and such places”

The underage wizard raised his blond eyebrows in astonishment, “Isn’t it worth it? We can not be discovered by muggles”

“I managed to convince him to at least do it progressively. The Ministry of Magic would be warded first; and, then, key locations such as Diagon Alley. Hogwarts’ Board of Governors has already decided to do the same to Hogwarts and Hogsmeade despite Dumbledore’s protests of it being unnecessary”, replied his Father, smirking in satisfaction.

Draco giggled, he was sure his Father was the sole reason these protections would be implemented at Hogwarts. It seemed like common sense to take these measures though. History had made it evident that muggles and wizards couldn’t live together in peace. Muggles had almost brought wizards and quite a few magical creatures to the brink of extinction.

Of course, if the Minister had only had a Hogwarts history education, he would only know about Wendelin the Weird and how she willingly went to the stake just for the giggles of the flames licking her skin. Conveniently forgetting the hundreds of wizards who hadn’t had access to education and hadn’t developed their skills in such a difficult period, the entire families whose house had been set on fire while they were sleeping or the children who hadn’t even learnt magic yet. But of course, hearing such stories could be “upsetting” for muggleborns, never mind that it was an essential part of Wizarding history.

The Abraxans descended majestically from the skies to land near the tents. Draco grinned excited. Despite his exhaustion and the fact that he had already lived through it one, he couldn’t help but be incredibly enthusiastic at the prospect of watching the best Quidditch players of the World have a match again. And to actually talk to them later, at the after party!

His Father jumped out of the carriage first, gallantly extending an aiding hand to his Mother, “My dearest wife”, said his Father with a hint of an intimate smile on his thin lips.

Mother gave him an amused smile, her blue eyes twinkling as she stepped out of the carriage, carefully arranging her robe so that it would fall appropriately on her body after being sitting down. To his surprise, Father also extended a hand to him and he accepted it without thinking to step out of the carriage as well.

“Eric, you may return to Malfoy Manor. We shall send a message when we require your services”, instructed his Father serenely.

Eric, his Father’s carriage driver and Acton’s father, nodded, “Yes, Lord Malfoy. I hope you and the missus have a good time”

With that, Eric steered the carriage, the Abraxans quickly reaching the sky again.

Next to him, his Mother absently put a blond lock behind her ear, “Such a kind wizard, Eric: excellent service and have never seen so much as a frown on his face. How is his son, Acton, behaving as your driver, Draco?”

“He is his father’s son, he does very well his job”, answered the Slytherin as they started to walk to their reserved spot to place their tent.

“Lucius, darling, remember to give him a good present for Yule”, said his Mother, “You should always reward good service, Draco, as much as you punish bad service”

The pureblood teenager nodded, it seemed to be such obvious advice to him, having witnessed it all his life. Of course, Draco had an easier time dealing with human service than with house-elves. House-elves were just so aggravating. Whereas human service consisted mainly of low-powered wizards whose families had been working under the Malfoy House for generations.

They reached their allotted spot soon enough. Diggy, a house-elf who had accompanied then but been previously invisible, set out the tent with barely a snap of his thin grey fingers. They entered the tent to see the set out since it was a new tent, as Malfoys rarely had a need for a tent magical or not. Draco did remember it being comfortable although he hadn’t been able to sleep even a night the last time he had been there.

“We should go to the reserved area, most of the people I wish to speak to today are there”, instructed his Father after having inspected the tent, “I am sure you will find your friends there as well, Draco”

The petite blond nodded, it would be hard to find them though. Even in the exclusive area, there were wizards from all over the world. The exclusive area, as with most of the elite’s tents, had been placed near their tent. It was merely a matter of five minutes to reach the exclusive are. There they had to hand in their tickets, although the employee immediately recognized them.

Upon entering, his parent and he parted ways. His Father had spotted one of his foreign friends and business partners, Lord Montdidier. The French aristocrat was in his eighties, although his powerful magic kept him young. He was accompanied by his wife, Léonnore, and by his forty-year-old heir, Raymond-Pierre. He wondered where the heir’s wife, Hélène, was. It was possible she was pregnant again. The couple already had five children. It was encouraged since their House’s numbers had diminished considerably with Grindelwald.

If the young Slytherin remembered correctly, his great-grandfather and Lord Montdidier’s grandfather had been blood brothers by some blood-sharing ritual, such magicks were no longer allowed in Britain though. If he had wished his parents would have introduced him, but then to leave in the middle of a conversation would have seemed disrespectful and Draco knew how long these conversations could run. At least his parents trusted him enough to believe he would behave in public without their supervision.

The petite blond looked around trying to find his friends. There was a twenty-year-old black-haired wizard just staring at him. The other pureblood was tan and Draco thought he might be Greek by his face structure. The other wizard was handsome, in the way most pureblood powerful families were, and he had very penetrating black eyes. The Slytherin blushed and averted his mercury eyes.

“Daphne!” he called as he recognized the golden curls of his fellow Slytherin.

The fourteen-year-old witch smiled and turned around, she was accompanied by her sister, Astoria. Daphne, as always, looked impeccable and fashionable wearing a teal robe accompanied by a teal topaz necklace that matched her silver earrings. Astoria, meanwhile, was wearing a salmon pink robe, which was girlish and cute. Draco went to them, establishing an entertaining conversation, and forgot all about the Greek wizard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updating! I have half-written the next chapter (also set in the Quidditch World Cup) so you won't have to wait too long :)


	10. Chapter 10

When a soft melody sounded in the exclusive area, it became clear that they would have to search for their seats in the enormous stadium. Daphne pouted as she had been in the middle of quite interesting gossip about an Heiress that had decided to elope with a muggleborn. Draco always made sure to keep his face straight in such stories, as his aunt Andromeda had eloped as well. She had been casted out of the family and the Malfoy Heir had only seen her in old photographs that her mother kept in an album hidden inside a book titled ‘ _The history of cauldrons’_. She had probably thought no one would find it there, yet the teenage wizard had been tutored by Professor Snape, he was quite a diligent student.

He had always believed it odd to think his mother had two sisters and he had never met either of them. That had been before he had met Bellatrix though. The Death Eater was simply terrifying in her insanity. Andromeda looked very similar to Bellatrix in the pictures. Draco wondered what drove one sister to the arms of a muggleborn and another to the Dark Lord.

“I’ll see you after this afternoon”, said Draco with a smile before leaving to find his parents.

There were many people around; quite a few were already heading to the stadium. He soon found his parents in one of the small terraces with catering. The small terrace was representing Nimbus Racing Broom Company; one of the many companies his Father was an investor of and the same that had gifted his team with Nimbus 2001 after Draco had been chosen Seeker.

At least it seemed they were finally giving their farewell to the Montdidiers. It seemed like he would be able to avoid the tedious conversations on how much he had grown up and how he was becoming such a good young wizard with upstanding principles. Every time an acquaintance of his parents gave that fake discourse after merely seeing him, it bored him to tears. It had been especially grating when he had known he had failed in his introduction to society.

“Draco”, called his Father already leaving the terrace, followed by his Mother.

“Father, Mother”, answered their greeting politely the petite blond.

“Did you enjoy spending time with your friends, darling?” asked Mother sweetly.

“Yes, thank you, Mother. I found Daphne and Astoria and we just walked around”, explained Draco as they started to walk towards the Stadium, following the indications of the Ministry employees dressed in ridiculous orange robes to their seats.

As soon as Draco saw the mass of redheads he wanted to sigh in frustration. He had forgotten about the Weasleys and Potter. He couldn’t believe that at an international event, with everyone watching, the Ministry would choose to prioritise Potter and the Weasleys. He grimaced at the mere thought of what impression the foreigners would get from English society. He could almost see it in his mind, the Bulgarians explaining at home how English wizards dressed in muggle fashion in poor quality clothing and were loud and uncouth. His parents walked ahead to the top box, but Draco had the misfortune of encountering Potter.

With a sigh, he greeted the half-blood, “Potter”

“Malfoy”, answered the Gryffindor wizard, his eyes narrowing as he watched the Slytherin suspiciously.

Granger and Weasley stood half-behind Potter, his expressions equally aggressive. There was some surprise in their faces; he supposed they had never seen Draco dressed in this manner before. He wished he could be quite impolite, but they were in the presence of high-ranking adults. It wouldn’t do for Draco to behave inappropriately in public and childishly. That didn’t mean that the Slytherin would refrain from giving some digs.

“Quite greedy of you to invite so many people… there are what, ten guests?” he said mockingly, it was truly greedy. Usually it was only accepted to have three guests at a maximum.

Potter looked quite startled, “Actually, I was invited by the Weasleys, a friend of Mr Weasley gifted him the tickets”

Draco stared at the Gryffindor with disbelief, just how naïve was he? How couldn’t he see that Fudge was trying to make up for his fumbling in the Sirius Black business by inviting him to the top box in the World Quidditch Cup? He glanced at Granger and Weasley; at least Granger seemed to know what was unusual from her blank face.

“You do realise that this is the top box, meaning that there are wizards willing to pay hundreds of galleons to sit here. Even if they hadn’t managed to fill the top box selling seats, don’t you think it would be more appropriate to invite members of the Wizenmagot or top ministry officials as an incentive? Do you truly believe that a friend of Mr Weasley just casually gifted him at least 8 seats of the best box in the entire Quidditch Stadium? It would have made far more sense to give it to Madam Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement or to Lord Richard Keppel”, stated Draco studying Potter’s face.

The Gryffindor had a confused look on his face. It was obvious it hadn’t even occurred to Potter that there was something peculiar about the situation. Granger didn’t say anything but it was clear she had already thought of it. While Granger was many, many things, amongst them socially awkward and short-sighted; she wasn’t stupid. Meanwhile, Weasley was turning that ugly shade of red that clashed with his ginger hair in anger.

He continued non-chalantly, “It’s obvious that Mr Weasley mentioned you would spend time with his children this summer, conveniently in front of some important people and the Ministry decided to gift you tickets. It’s probably to make up for their failure to capture Sirius Black”

Potter flinched at the mention of the Azkaban escapee. His godfather, Draco remembered, wrongly accused of betraying his parents. By the Gryffindor’s expression, he knew his godfather had been wrongly accused. And wasn’t it curious that Potter’s guardian had been wrongly imprisoned in Azkaban mere hours after the Dark Lord’s defeat? Albus Dumbledore had been in charge of Potter’s placement, Draco knew, because his Father had fumed at the situation. He had wanted to try for Potter’s custody due to Potter’s Black grandmother and his mother Narcissa belonging to the same Noble House.

“Make no mistake, Potter, you’re the host here. The Weasleys and Granger are only invited because of you. I’m sure the exorbitant amount of seats you’re using has made you quite unpopular amongst a few circles” he finished his discourse, “Have a good day Potter”

Dramatically, the Slytherin twirled around and went to sit with his parents. His Father waited for him with an arched eyebrow and Draco merely smiled. His confrontation with Potter had been rather quiet so only the golden trio had heard his opinions, otherwise Malfoy would have never brought up the Ministry’s incompetence. He couldn’t help but be satisfied; Potter would surely feel discomfited and awkward at the thought of the Weasleys using his fame to their advantage.

The best of all was that Draco hadn’t lied: there were quite a few people annoyed with Potter for those seats. Some personalities, who would usually have the seats in the top box, had found themselves shuffled to the side for mid-level employee Weasley and his gaggle of redheaded children. Lord Richard Keppel, one of the people who had organised the Quidditch World Cup final in England, had been quite miffed.

He walked towards his family. His Father was speaking with Fudge and saying an easy greeting in Bulgarian to the Bulgarian Minister. Father knew Russian, but not Bulgarian. Nonetheless, before the World Cup he had been learning basic sentences in Bulgarian to at least be polite to Minister Oblansk. Draco mentally winced as he realised Minister Fudge had indeed ignored his Father’s wise suggestion of a translator. His Father must be quite furious at the ridiculous oversight.

“Minister Fudge, you remember my Heir, Draco Malfoy”, reintroduced them his Father with a proud hand on his son’s shoulder.

“Ah, yes! Indeed, a Hogwarts student, still right, Draco?” bumbled Fudge, who clearly didn’t remember the Heir of one of the Great Houses of his country and the son of one of his closest advisors and donators.

His Father’s jaw tensed at the Minister’s incompetence, “That is right, Draco here is about to start his Fourth Year”

His Father, the very image of Lord Malfoy, then turned to Minister Oblansk and introduced Draco in Bulgarian to the Minister. The foreign Minister smiled approvingly at Draco as the teenage pureblood performed the bow of an Heir towards the Lord of a House.

Ludovic Bagman who was the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports and the commentator of the game started speaking, so everyone retreated to their seats.

The view in his seat was breathtaking. Draco hadn’t been uncomfortable in his black robe and feeling out of place last time. Today, there was nothing to distract him from the sheer amount of wizards that were around him. Wizards lived in isolation, a paranoid mentality rooted in the Witch Hunts, and there were few Wizarding villages. The highest concentration of wizards Draco had ever seen had been in Hogwarts.

However, this was a different level completely. There were thousands and thousands of wizards and magical creatures around him. If he closed his eyes, Draco could feel the hum of their magic intertwining in such close quarters. He was slightly magic sensitive and the sensation of so many magic users together was unbelievable. Hogwarts was quite magical as a millenary institution, but the magic was quite old. This was new magic: living and breathing.

His father squeezed his shoulder softly, “Don’t get lost in the magic, Draco”

“I won’t, Father”, he smiled reassuringly to his Father and stopped focusing on the enticing swirl of powerful magic.

Soon enough, after the exotic Veelas’ dance and the Irish Leprechauns, the match started. Although this wasn’t his first time seeing the match, Draco felt his entire being focused on the match. The petite blond loved Quidditch, not only playing, but also watching. Seeing the performance of the best teams of the world going against one another was riveting. Krum flied like he had been born for the air. He was truly the most spectacular player today, even though the Irish chasers were quite impressive as well. It was marvellous to watch even if it was going exactly as it had gone the first time.


	11. Chapter 11

Draco stepped into the after party tent, following his parents, Ministers of Magic and other figures of both Ministries of Magic. Upon the group’s arrival, a human waiter immediately offered them a glass of golden champagne. The Bulgarian Minister of Magic, who apparently knew English, accepted a glass, as did his own parents. He accepted a glass, knowing that he wouldn’t be allowed to have more than two glasses of champagne.

The tent was bigger in the inside than on the outside, as most Wizarding tents. In this case, the tent was a ballroom with wooden floors and the walls were the beige fabric of the tent with a few tapestries decorating. Instead of the typical lightening, there were balls of light hovering around the room to give a soft lightening. There were long tables loaded with food, obviously to serve as a buffet for the guests. There were a couple of German wizards speaking business in the armchairs that were lined around the room to provide seat for the guests.

On the floor, there were around twenty people already in small groups. Draco studied them curiously as he sipped his champagne, it was light and fruity albeit dry. Three members of the Wizenmagot were talking standing up, a glass of champagne in their hands. Two Russian Lords were speaking with a Bulgarian Lord, their familiarity indicating they knew each other, probably from Durmstrang although they weren’t the same age. Four society witches were laughing melodiously, all of them were married to important lords he deduced by their clothing.

Everything was exactly like he remembered. Thankfully, this time instead of wearing a black robe he was wearing his more suitable mauve robe. He felt a bit faint, he was unsure if it was the pressure of behaving well in such an international and significant event or if he had somehow caught a cold. He entered further into the room, knowing that soon people his age would arrive.

“Hello, Mr Malfoy”, greeted a recognisable voice from behind him, “What a pleasure to meet you here”

He felt a shiver run up his spine at the deep voice, he turned to the wizard, “Lord Ravensdale, I didn’t know you were such a fan of Quidditch”

On the last after party of the World Cup, Lord Ravensdale hadn’t been there. This led Draco to the conclusion that something the petite blond had done, had managed to alter the Patriarch’s decision to come to the Quidditch World Cup. He knew the brown haired pureblood wasn’t that fond of Quidditch and preferred winged horse racing. As he and the Head of Ravensdale House hadn’t gotten along before his time-travel, he had tried to know his preferences to avoid him. He felt his fair cheeks darken at the attractive aristocrat gently kissing the back of his hand yet again. He cautiously glanced at his parents, but they hadn’t seen the gesture, as they were still involved in a conversion with Minister Oblansk and a couple of foreign nobles.

“I am not, but this is such an opportunity to meet people, isn’t it, young Mr Malfoy?” inquired the noble wizard with a smirk on his handsome face.

Draco tightened his grasp on his champagne glass while he put on a polite smile, “Indeed it is. May I inquire of Mr Norton’s whereabouts? It is the first time I haven’t seen you together”

“Mr Norton is my steward, I’m afraid he had to meet the goblins over a business deal overseas. I am sure I can make up for the lack of Mr Norton in company, though, Mr Malfoy”, teased the tall pureblood, his water green eyes sparkling with something akin to mischief.

“Only for a little while, though. I understand that you have come to reacquaint yourself with some people here”, waved away the Malfoy Heir with a tight smile.

“Worry not, Mr Malfoy, I have already acquainted myself with every one I needed to. I am glad to say you have me for the entire evening if so you wish”, replied casually Lord Ravensdale.

The petite blond averted his silver eyes at a loss for words, feeling a dark blush spread across his cheeks. Finally, he settled for saying, “You honour me, Lord Ravensdale”

“The honour is entirely mine, Mr Malfoy”, answered the striking nobleman, his green blue eyes fixed on the Slytherin student, “And I must compliment you on the excellent choice of robe for this fine evening”

Draco could remember the scene in the dressing room: Lord Ravensdale enveloping his waist with his huge, warm hands so close behind him, he could feel his body heat. The elegant robe’s material had been thin. The robe had been too big for him at the time, before being tailored, it could have easily slipped through his shoulders. He felt flustered at the memory and tried to hide it, yet he could see that was the reaction the Ravensdale Patriarch had been seeking. The nobleman smirked with satisfaction at his physical response.

“Thank you, Lord Ravensdale, you’re too kind”, he managed to reply with a certain level of impassivity.

“The truth isn’t kindness, Mr Malfoy”, retorted the handsome lord, his complete attention focused on the petite pureblood.

The young Heir looked away from the gorgeous pureblood, “Did you enjoy the Quidditch game?”

“It was an interesting game. I feel proud for Ireland’s win and I admire Mr Krum’s determination to end the game before his team suffered a more humiliating defeat. Sometimes, there’s a certain courage and nobility in surrender”, stated Lord Ravensdale.

The meaning was clear: Draco knew that Lord Ravensdale was interested in him. Wouldn’t it be so much dignified to surrender now instead of in the future? His lips pursed at the insinuation. He was Draco Malfoy, Heir of the Noble and Ancient House Malfoy. He wasn’t the sort of person who would surrender. He had no need of Lord Ravensdale; he wasn’t to become a consort but a Lord of his own right.

“Yes, at times it is best to surrender instead of stubbornly carrying on a path with no achievable goal”, he replied, his tone frosty.

Although his own meaning was clear, Lord Ravensdale only raised his brown eyebrows amused and chuckled, “In some situations, even though I must admit I am the sort of wizard who is stubborn until the very end”

“A pity, it must have been a source of trouble for you, Lord Ravensdale”, he retorted, his voice icy. He felt as though his arguments weren’t as strong as they could, since he still felt a bit under the weather.

The older wizard seemed unaffected by Draco’s displeasure, “But trouble can lead to many great things”

The petite blond pursed his thin lips in irritation at the obstinate response. Then, with relief, he saw that the Quidditch teams had already entered the after party tent. The members of Ireland’s Quidditch team had spread through the room to speak with different British wizards, whereas Bulgaria’s team was still more or less together in three small groups along the buffet tables. He didn’t feel like walking right now, he still felt out of sorts, yet he was willing to move to escape the persistent member of the Wizenmagot.

“Excuse me, Lord Ravensdale, I would like to meet the Quidditch players of today’s match”, he state as he stepped away from the bothersome conversation.

“Allow me to escort you, Heir Malfoy”, replied cheekily the nobleman, offering his arm.

“Surely it would only bore you, Lord Ravensdale, as you find Quidditch less suitable to your tastes”, evaded the Slytherin student.

“Ah, but that would deprive me of your company, Mr Malfoy”, countered the young member of Wizenmagot.

Draco had no other choice but to accept Eadred’s offered arm, even though he disliked the gesture and the image it might present to society. He hoped no one would take note of him, on account of his youth. He didn’t want to be associated with a possible partner of Lord Ravensdale. The aristocrat quickly directed him to Connolly and Quigley, the two Irish beaters, who were speaking to some other people.

“Mr Connolly, Mr Quigley, allow me to introduce myself and my companion, I am Lord Eadred Ravensdale and I have the pleasure of being accompanied by Heir Draco Malfoy”, announced the brown-haired wizard commandingly, “We must congratulate you for the riveting game of today”

Quigley, a redheaded and robust beater, smiled at them offering to shake their hands, “Thank you, Lord Ravensdale. It was a close game and a pleasure to play against such proficient players. I would like to introduce you to Heir Kleitos Doukatelis of Greece and Lady Fryderyka Winogrodzki of Poland”

The Greek wizard was the same young pureblood who had been staring at him intently earlier. He was even more striking upon close inspection: his features had a patrician, noble look and his skin was a becoming tan shade. His hair was a dark black, just like his intense black eyes that were framed by generous eyebrows. The petite blond felt his stomach twist at the sight. He thought he vaguely recalled the surname of Doukatelis as that of an Ancient and Noble House in Greece with a good reputation. Meanwhile Lady Fryderyka was a forty-year-old witch of brown hair and gentle blue eyes that exuded great grace. She was not a beauty, yet she still seemed an elegant lady with great presence.

“It is a pleasure to meet you”, said Draco with a polite smile as he shook their hands.

Instead of shaking his hand like everyone else, Heir Doukatelis unwittingly imitating Lord Ravensdale, pressed a light kiss on the back of his pale hand. The English pureblood blushed as he was unsettled by the daring move. He wondered whether the Greek wizard had taken his cues on how to act towards him from Eadred’s behaviour. He was unused to such reactions and he could barely keep his composure. His headache was coming back with more strength than ever.

“We were just discussing how skilful it was for Mr Quigley to strike a bludger to Victor Krum. Krum can usually avoid them, but this time it broke his nose!” said delighted Lady Winogrodzki, her external image completely at odds with her glee at the thought of Krum’s bodily harm.

“Krum is such a skilled seeker that even that didn’t deter him”, contradicted Mr Quigley modestly, his face becoming a clashing shade of red against his own orange-red hair.

“You still did a great job, Quig!” exclaimed jovially Connolly, of brown hair and grey eyes.

“You did well predicting the bludger’s and Krum’s moves”, concluded Heir Doukatelis, his dark eyes still trained on the petite blond.

“Indeed, it was quite a sight! You both flew beautifully”, praised them the Slytherin student, his sincerity clear in his voice.

 “Thank you!” hollered Connolly with a wide smile.

Draco winced at the volume of his response, his head throbbing from his headache and he felt a bit faint to be honest. Despite his ill health, he tried to carry on as though nothing had happened. Both Lord Ravensdale and the Greek pureblood had noticed his grimace of pain due to their close attention on the petite blond.

“Are you well, Heir Malfoy? You seem a bit indisposed”, asked the foreign wizard concerned.

 “I-”, started to answer the fourteen-year-old pureblood, he started to see small black dots in his vision and he felt cold, his legs felt weak.

The young beauty felt his legs crumble under him. Fortunately, Lord Ravensdale swiftly caught him before he reached the ground. He wasn’t too sure of what happened next. However, when he regained his senses, he was sitting down in a chair with his conversationalists around him, expectantly watching him. Lady Winogrodzki was approaching him with his parents in tow. His parents’ face was impassive yet he could spot the worry in their eyes. It was unusual for Draco to faint; he had never lost consciousness before in his life.

“Draco, you should have told us you felt unwell”, reprimanded him gently Lord Malfoy, “We have said our good farewells to the other guests. We should return home, I have acquired a Portkey, and call for a mediwizard”

The teenager pureblood felt humiliated. The Quidditch World Cup was such an opportunity for his father socially and politically wise. It was rare for such an international gathering of wizards to occur, and he had ruined the evening. He wondered how his Patriarch had acquired a Portkey in such short notice, as they hadn’t planned on taking a Portkey and in the World Cup they had been heavily regulated for safety.

“Yes, Father, thank you. And thank you for your aid”, he said as he nodded to the two Quidditch players and the three nobles.

“We were glad to help”, responded cheerfully Lady Winogrodzki.

“Thank you”, uttered regally Lord Malfoy.

They took the Portkey and in a blink of an eye, they were back to Malfoy Manor.


	12. Chapter 12

Draco frowned at the Prophet and set it down on the tray with a resigned sigh. He laid back on the fluffed cushion of his comfortable bed with a pout, careful not to disturb the breakfast tray. Apparently, the same incident of his past life had occurred in the World Cup, with a group of people attacking a muggle family and someone casting the Dark mark. He grimaced, last time he had failed to appreciate how truly terrifying and nightmarish an experience that was. This time he had shared his home with Death Eaters, he knew all too well how utterly horrifying it was. His parents had tried to shelter him, yet he would always remember Nagini eating a witch alive or Greyback sadistically choking a prisoner.

He shook those terrible memories away, trying to focus on the present. He glanced at the paper on his tray and picked his porcelain cup of Earl Grey tea. Fortunately, this time no suspicion of Death Eater activities would fall on his family. Although the front page was about the disturbances at the World Cup, on the third page it spoke of Draco’s blossoming into an omega. An omega. He was still in a state of disbelief. He couldn’t believe he was an omega. Omegas were so rare and the young Malfoy had never met one. He knew his parents had some acquaintances who were omegas, yet the petite blond had still not been introduced to adult society and did not know them.

He couldn’t believe he was an omega. And yet, he thought with some bitterness, the entire world already knew. He wondered how the hell had the Prophet been given that information before his parents had made the announcement. He would have thought every reporter would have been too focused on the attack of the World Cup to investigate why the Malfoys had left the event early. He knew that the mediwitch hadn’t said anything as she was under Oath; likewise his parents hadn’t contacted the press yet. No one could infiltrate the Manor either, so it was a mystery how they had realised. Mayhaps it had only been an educated guess? The Prophet did make a lot of those, it was quite amusing when the educated guess was horribly wrong.

There was a knock on the door, “Darling, Poppy has informed me you are awake, may I come in?”

“Yes, mother”, he answered quickly.

His mother opened the door, as always, she looked radiant. She was wearing a lavender robe with gold detailing that favoured her pale colouring. Despite the gruesome front page of the Prophet, Lady Narcissa Malfoy seemed ecstatic. It was quite a boon to have an omega in the family; it spoke of the nobility and purity of House Malfoy.

“Good morning, dear, how are you feeling?” inquired his mother with a gentle smile as she sat on the bed.

The Slytherin pureblood perused her carefully. His mother had always been particularly gentle and loving with him, was she being even more so or was he being paranoid? He had never met an omega before, therefore he didn’t know how they were actually treated, he only knew they were spoken of with awe.

“I am well, mother, only a bit tired”, he replied setting down his teacup on the silver tray.

His mother smiled brightly, “Well, it is not everyday only blossoms into an omega”

“Indeed”, he answered with a forced smile.

Lady Narcissa’s countenance dimmed, “Is something the matter, darling?”

His beautiful mother’s face displayed her worry, as her keen blue eyes had already noticed something amiss. The Malfoy Heir averted his silver eyes unable to bear the sincere concern on his mother’s face. It made him feel guilty for second-guessing his mother. His mother had always loved more than was proper for a dark pureblood lady; it was normal that she would be glad that she could now express her feeling without worrying of weakening his character.

“It is just… unexpected”, he said hesitantly.

It had definitely shaken him. He had believed with his time-travel he knew everything that would happen and that he was in a prime position for the events that would happen after his fourth year. This was just a sign that there were unforeseen events that could happen. It made it evident that he wasn’t in control and that he no longer held he advantage he believed he would.

“I know this changes things, Draco. You have grown up with the expectation of becoming Lord Malfoy and now you discover that that is not to be. However, this is a blessing, darling. It indicates that you don’t have an inclination for that position. Imagine you hadn’t blossomed into an omega and had become Lord Malfoy, you would have been miserable”, pointed out Lady Malfoy kindly.

“I suppose”, said the young blond unsure, “Does that mean I am to have a sibling?”

Before his eyes, the elegant Lady Malfoy dulled. Her smile disappeared from her lovely face and her blue eyes dimmed. There was pain in his mother. It was difficult to see his mother like this. The petite blond wondered what was wrong. His mother was a true Black and she barely expressed her emotions in public. Even with Draco in the privacy of the Manor, she only expressed positive emotions. The only exception had been with the invasion of their home by the Dark Lord, yet she had remained strong. This pain was… startling for the young Slytherin who adored his mother.

“I am sure you have wondered before, why despite our numbers being so greatly reduced you have no siblings?” commented his mother staring at the window, her face frighteningly blank.

“I thought it was to not divide the family fortune”, ventured the underage aristocrat.

Lady Narcissa’s mouth twisted bitterly, “You know that is not how House Malfoy works, darling. The heir receives all the inheritance and is in charge of taking care of all the members of his House as Lord Malfoy. The other children inherit from their bearer, have a personal vault and receive a generous stipend from Lord Malfoy. Your lack of siblings is not a matter of inheritance. Even then, House Malfoy could afford to divide its assets in three and still be a major house”

Draco remained silent. His silver eyes set on his mother. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen. He had never seen this part of his mother before.

“No, the fault lies with me”, sentenced cruelly the daughter of House Black, “I am the one who couldn’t bear your father children”

He had never seen his mother like this before. It was like he was seeing an entirely different person. Selfishly, he wanted her to turn again into the mother he knew. He was driven by the need to console her, to help her lock the anger and the pain away.

“But father would never blame you”, spoke the young Slytherin, unnerved by his mother’s bitterness.

“Your father loves me more than the world, he would never say something so displeasing even when I endangered the future of his entire House. You see, Draco, I knew I wasn’t fertile and yet I wanted your father so much I said nothing, even knowing I could be his ruin”, said Lady Narcissa coldly.

He grasped his mother’s elegant smooth hand between his own, trying to show his support. Even though confusion was clouding his mind.

“Your father accepted I could bear him no children. In part, I think that is why he joined the Dark Lord, aside from the cause, of course”, she added dismissively, “There were so many raids in which families were attacked, so many dead babes. It would be easy to take one away. We would save them and restore House Malfoy”, stated his mother, her voice soulless.

The petite blond felt dread in his stomach travel through his throat, he felt like he couldn’t breath.

“We named him Pollux Malfoy. And we went through the blood adoption ritual in secret, since it is illegal now. He didn’t survive. The magic in body was too weak to bear the might of House Malfoy. He was a sweet child”, his mother fell quiet, remembering the babe, “Then came Cedrella, she was older and her birth family was powerful. Yet, her magic was too light, you see, while House Malfoy and House Black are dark”

The young Malfoy felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. He was in disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real.

“The enemies of the Dark Lord were light, their children too light to accept the magic of House Malfoy. We had to find another way. It was very humiliating, but I asked my sister Bellatrix to assist me. She refused of course, she was on her mission for the Dark and she wasn’t even fulfilling her own marriage contract”, commented his mother with a cruel sneer, “I even thought of Andromeda, yet I couldn’t admit my failure to her”

Draco bit his lower lip savagely, trying to stop the flux of questions bubbling in his mind and let his mother finish.

“And then Regulus came. He had done something foolish, you see, something to do with the Dark Lord. He was all too willing to birth a child and be hidden under powerful wards for the duration of the pregnancy and afterwards”, his mother said, her face stony, “He conceived insultingly easy and carried you to term with no more trouble than the average beta male”

“I thought- I thought he was dead”, voiced Draco uncertain.

“Regulus Black is dead, indeed, that doesn’t mean your bearer is dead”, countered his mother, before turning to face him, her blue eyes passionate, “But _I_ am your mother, no one else”

“Of course, mother”, he replied, his voice tight.

Lady Narcissa’s face smoothed, becoming a closer resemblance to the mother Draco knew, “My beautiful babe”, she whispered as she caressed his pale blond hair lovingly, “I am proud of you, darling”

The young Slytherin gave her a small smile, warmth swelling in his chest at his mother’s pride. She was his mother again, with a sweet smile on her beautiful face and there was no longer pain twisting her elegant features into a tragic resemblance to Bellatrix. However, he couldn’t help but wonder where Regulus Black was or what had happened to him. His mind turned to Pollux and Cedrella Malfoy, where were they buried? Whose families had they come from?

He had thought he had an advantage, coming from the future. He had thought he knew most of what he needed to know. And now he was an omega, no longer future Lord Malfoy. And now he had two dead siblings and a missing bearer. He supposed it explained why his mother, the perfect dark pureblood lady in all other matters, coddled him so. He was her only living child after years of longing and pain. And yet, what else was he missing? What else didn’t he know? And what his bearer done to be in trouble with the Dark Lord?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this plot twist :D


	13. Chapter 13

Draco Malfoy stared at the golden words on the white marble, his heart caught in his throat. He didn't know what he had expected. He had known his mother was telling him the truth and yet he had hoped it was lie. However, Pollux Malfoy and Cedrella Malfoy were entombed in the Malfoy Mausoleum. He reached slowly and caressed the letters wonderingly. He had had two siblings. If they had survived would he have been born? What families had they come from? It felt like the earth beneath his feet was trembling. He felt lost. What else was he ignorant of? House Malfoy was an old House and old houses had secrets. He had believed he was privy to them before, but clearly that wasn't true.

The petite blond bit his lower lip until he tasted blood. What of Regulus Black? His mother had said that Regulus was dead but his bearer was alive. Did that mean that Regulus had changed identities? He had probably cut his ties with House Black, that would make him appear as dead and would allow him to change his name and adopt a new one. The other option, he grimaced at the thought of it, was that pregnancy had been too hard for Regulus’ beta body to bear and they had used a spell to transplant him to another bearer. He hoped that wasn’t the case. Regulus might not be his mother or father, might have agreed to carry him for sanctuary, but they shared blood and the young Black had risked his life to give him life. That wasn’t easily forgotten.

"I knew you would be here, son", stated Lucius Malfoy calmly.

Draco turned around to look at his Patriarch, "I- where did they come from?"

His father's face was gentler than it had ever been before with him. It was probably because he was an omega now, a pureblood heir was supposed to be strong even in the face of such devastating news. However, special dispensation would be given to a gentle and sweet omega. Draco wasn't sure he was gentle or sweet under almost any circumstance, yet it seemed as an omega he had magically acquired the other adjectives.

"You mustn't trouble yourself with such matters, Draco", replied his father serenely, "Your siblings died, but you are alive and hale. You have even become an omega, the numbers of our House will grow again"

The reply was a complete surprise for the young Malfoy. He wasn't sure why it was a surprise. Omegas were, after all, known as fertile. Omegas had a dozen children and each of the children would be strong and powerful. Why would it be a surprise that his Father was counting on that now? What else would an omega do but marry and have children? Draco hadn't had time to consider how his life would change as an omega after learning of his dead siblings.

"I wish to know", he retorted, emotion infused in his voice despite his effort to sound as serene as his Patriarch.

"There is no need to speak of such unpleasantness, Draco", declared Lord Malfoy as he walked out of the Mausoleum confident that his son would follow him, "Although I am pleased to see you taking an interest in your family history"

The Slytherin blushed, ashamed at the implication. His tutor when he had been young had been less than pleased with Draco's dedication to his family history. The young heir had enjoyed stories of battles but not much else. Was it his fault that he was ignorant to the secrets of his House? If he had shown an interest in the convoluted history of his House, would he be privy to more secrets? Would he have known of his lost siblings?

Draco had been very focused on finding his siblings when he had come to the Mausoleum. In the way back, he was no less filled with questions. Wondering over his House's secrets made him study the tombs he passed suspiciously as though in the marble there would be some sort of clue to the Family secrets. There were some very extravagant tombs, usually of a Head of House, that merited them a statue at the very least and powerful protection magic when the petite omega focused on feeling the magic around him.

Some of the magic felt malicious, a clear warning to any who would seek to desecrate the tomb. Most of the magic felt protective though, even with the connotations of danger if someone sought to damage his ancestor's resting place. It was then that Draco felt a strong magic. It was unfamiliar. He realised then that most of the protections had been done by people of the Malfoy line and this wasn't the case for this tomb.

He paused in front of the tomb. There was a marble statue of a beautiful woman. The level of detail of the statue was impressive and Draco knew then that it had been a conjuration. He glanced at the inscription: Adelia Malfoy, born in 1598 and died in 1617. She died young then, only nineteen-years-old at the time of her death. It was improbable she had died of natural causes then.

"Adelia is captivating, isn't she?" inquired his father as he stared at the statue with an thoughtful expression.

"Her tomb feels powerful", voiced Draco, his question implied.

"She was the betrothed of Dark Lord Flavius Peverell, the last of his line. It was he who created this monument to her. She was murdered by the light side, of course", grimaced his father, "It was a pity, Lord Peverell was powerful and ruthless and he was winning. He lost his drive without Adelia", Lord Malfoy shook his head and started to walk again.

Draco blinked, did that mean that Lord Peverell had become depressed due to the death of his betrothed or that Adelia had steered him to being a Dark Lord and without her it didn't make sense anymore? Both were strong possibilities. It wouldn't be the first time Malfoys allied with powerful Lords and steered them towards their own goals.

The young Malfoy followed his father, questions still bubbling up in his mind like a cauldron in risk of an explosion. He wanted to know all the secrets his family had, not little things like where some dubious artefacts were hidden but the important secrets. What else didn't he know? Where was his bearer? What would happen to him now that he was an omega? The question made him pause and worry filled him. What else would change in his life?

"Will I still go to Hogwarts?" He abruptly asked; the thought of not starting Hogwarts in the fall was a disturbing prospect.

His father arched an elegant blond eyebrow, "There is no need to abandon Hogwarts in the middle of your education that I know of, is there something you wish to tell me?"

Draco swallowed thickly, "Of course not"

"While you are an omega, you are still a Malfoy. I expect you to excel at your classes this year and to focus on your lessons, as such you shall no longer participate in Quidditch", stated Lord Malfoy calmly as they walked the green fields of the gardens towards the Manor.

"I can't fly anymore?" He asked quietly, feeling tears in his eyes.

He had always enjoyed flying. As an only-child it had been an exciting activity he could do on his own and still have fun. He loved flying. It was freeing in a way nothing else was. The mere idea of not being allowed to freely fly was terribly upsetting for the young omega.

"Nonsense, you can still fly. You have not suddenly developed a fright of height, have you? No, you can fly perfectly well on the weekends. That said, you shall not participate in rough sports such as Quidditch and you shall not be reckless in your flying", replied his father, "You can participate in other clubs, of course, the choir would be an appropriate choice. The magic in music has always been a talent of House Malfoy"

The choir? The young Slytherin grimaced as he remembered the last performance of the choir: singing while holding enormous toads that croaked in the right moments, probably enchanted by Professor Flitwick. Who would think that was a good idea? And now he had to give up his passion, flying, in exchange for the choir. But apparently Quidditch wasn't appropriate for a young omega and singing was.

Lord Malfoy smiled briefly, there was a tint of smugness to that smile as he continued, "Society suspects us of bearing veela blood due to our colouring, and yet no one thinks of siren blood. I believe you shall do well in learning musical magic"

That was... surprising. Why had he never known that before? It made him wonder what the reaches of musical magic were. Sirens could cause storms. Sirens could snare the strongest of minds and cause wizards and witches alike to willingly drown. It was an allure even sweeter than the Imperius, which was why the Ministry had classified sirens as a XXXXX creature. That said, sirens were far more rare than mermaids, which were usually found in lakes. He thought that there was a mercolony in the Black Lake at Hogwarts.

“Will I have a tutor in music?” he inquired more eager than he wanted to display.

His father smiled indulgently, not unlike he had done when Draco was only five and asked for a herd of unicorns. Although, his father hadn’t captured a herd of unicorns and kept it in their lands, he had done even better. Lord Malfoy had created a small meadow with many of the flora necessary for a unicorn foal’s health. Since then, every spring without a fault, the meadow would be filled with the same growing herd, full of small adorable golden foals. Through his childhood, his father would set aside a weekend in his busy schedule to accompany him to the small meadow in their grounds and contemplate the marvellous magical creatures.

“You shall have the very best, as becomes House Malfoy”, replied his Patriarch with a slight wistful smile, “I wonder if you shall sing like your Great-grand aunt. She had the most beautiful singing voice I have ever heard”

“Did she sing often?” he asked his father, unused to seeing him so soft, for lack of a better word.

“She didn’t like public singing, but she would always sing me lullabies”, his father smirked, “Except when I was behaving unlike a Malfoy, no sense in rewarding bad behaviour, she would say”

“I haven’t seen her before”, said Draco quietly. He had seen her name on the tapestry, she had married a Rosier and had two children, yet he had never seen a portrait of her.

“You wouldn’t. Portraits take a small piece of you and Aunt Lilia disliked the thought of not being her entire self”, his father shook his head, “superstition”

As they walked towards the mansion, Draco felt calmer. This hadn’t been the story he longed to hear. Nonetheless, he was glad to know a new small piece of their family history. And he no longer felt so afraid of what his position would be through the next year: he would go to Hogwarts and even though he couldn’t play Quidditch, he would learn a new fascinating magic. He would strife to learn more on Regulus and fight to be more involved in how to solve the Voldemort problem. At this single moment, though, he felt comfortable walking alongside his father.


End file.
